

,i«'l 



SOME BY-\^AYS 
OF 

CALIFORNIA 

CHARLBSFCARTER 




Class E.l!'Ji_ 

Book .^ ^^. 

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Some By-Ways 
of California 



SOME BY-WAYS 
OF CALIFORNIA 

By 
CHARLES FRANKLIN CARTER 




THE GRAFTON PRESS 

New York 






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DEC. TlU IfiJr}-? 

|C»./1IW* ^ XXo Mo, 

oonr 8. 



Copyright, 1902, 
By Tmi Grafton Prim 




CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Preface v 

Pala I 

The Mojave Desert 24 

Leaves from an Artist's Diary 41 

The Home of Ramona 57 

Lompoc and Purisima yj 

Jolon 96 

San Juan Bautista 118 

Pescadero 139 

The Charm of Southern Cahfornia 152 



uf 



PREFACE. 

A glance at the table of contents of this little col- 
lection might lead one to think an undue proportion 
of the titles pertained to missions, and the towns or 
villages growing out of them. That a large num- 
ber relate to those religious establishments is true, 
five of the articles being descriptive of towns of 
which each one had an old Franciscan mission for 
a nucleus; but that the space given to the mis- 
sions is unduly disproportionate may be questioned. 
When we recollect that the missions were the 
earliest settlements in California, and that of the 
twenty-one religious establishments, fully three- 
fourths of the number grew eventually into towns 
of more or less importance — some of them becom- 
ing cities among the largest in the state — the num- 
ber taken for description may not, after all, be too 
great. Yet the writer has selected those smaller 
and less well known settlements — some hardly as- 



PREFACE. 

piring to the dignity of villages — as retaining more 
of the Spanish atmosphere of former days. 

The places described in the following pages are 
but a few from among the many as interesting 
which might be selected. Should these little de- 
scriptions induce the traveler to visit some of the 
by-ways of this section of our country, the writer 
will have attained his object. 

C. F. C. 

Waterbury, Connecticut, October 25, 1902. 



VI 



Some By- Ways of California 

Pala 



SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, a country com- 
paratively new to the traveling public, con- 
tains many places seldom or never heard 
of by the tourist, rarely, perhaps never, visit- 
ed by the sojourner of years in the state. Rail- 
roads are still few, and the great stretches of coun- 
try yet untouched by this adjunct of modern civili- 
sation, many; and as most tourists cannot tear 
themselves away from the beaten track of travel, 
these places are left in oblivion, to follow their own 
quiet life much as they have done for decades. 
This has been an unqualified blessing to the lover 
of the picturesque and to the seeker after bits of old 
time life and custom and architecture; for it is in 
just these spots, neglected by modern Hfe and busi- 
ness, that the purest, least unchanged remains of 
former days are to be found. These spots — vil- 
lages, or the merest settlements, as they may be — • 
at the present time, are only remnants, small and 
insignficant; but they will be found to contain as 



Some By- Ways of California 

much as, if not more than, all that remains of 
California's early life in the larger cities and towns; 
and that little will be in a far better state of preser- 
vation, if of the old architecture, or less contam- 
inated by modern American life, if of the old cus- 
toms; and each will be found set in its own proper 
and appropriate framework of environment 

Naturally, as in all places, east or west, left to 
one side when railroads are built, such settlements 
never become large — in fact, in the majority of 
cases, the result is that they are very apt to lose 
a good part of what little population they have. 
Southern California is no exception to this rule; 
although it is, perhaps, less marked; for nearly all 
the large towns were located on, or not far from, 
the coast, right on the path of the future lines of 
communication. But there are some places, his- 
toric and picturesque, not yet reached by the rail- 
road, places that well repay the time and effort 
necessary to visit them. Pala is one of these, a 
place than which none more interesting can be 
found in the state. 

To reach Pala from Oceanside, the easier and 
more usual, although the longer, way, requires a 
drive of twenty-four miles. A stage, so-called, 
carrying the mail, leaves Oceanside about mid-day 
three times a week, returning the alternate days. 
It is not the most comfortable vehicle in the world, 
and the tourist will find it far more agreeable to 



Pala 

engage a private team and make the trip independ- 
ently. In addition to the greater pleasure of the 
independent drive, this will be found the better 
way because it leaves one free to make an early 
start, allowing a return the same day; and, as there 
are no accommodations for travelers at Pala, to 
make the round trip in a single day will be impera- 
tive, unless some resident may be found willing to 
play the part of temporary host. An early start 
will thus be seen to be advisable, leaving, at the 
best, only a short time for Pala itself. 

There is another way to get to Pala, which is 
from the north by way of Temecula. This has the 
advantage of being much shorter, (it is only ten 
miles between the two places); but, as this is not a 
stage route, and as it is much more hilly than is the 
other, and, again, as Temecula, although a rail- 
road point, is not on the regular line of tourist trav- 
el, the advantage is, after all, more apparent than 
real.* 

Traveling along the coast between Capistrano 
and San Diego, whether by the railroad or driving 
on the highway, one has no conception of what 
the interior country waits to offer those who will 
make the trip thither. The coast scenery is satis- 
fyingly beautiful, it is true; but to have seen the 

*This was the arrangement in 1895. The writer has heard 
that in 1899 the stage was no longer run from Oceanside, but 
from Temecula instead. 



Some By- Ways of California 

coast in this part of the state does not, by a great 
deal, mean that one has become familiar with the 
country as a whole. Yet, now and again, tantalis- 
ing glimpses of what lies beyond may be had, lead- 
ing the thoughtful traveler to wonder if, after all, 
there be not as desirable spots in this region as the 
well-known and common places of interest of or- 
dinary travel. Distant mountains, suggestive of 
charming valleys and canons with their streams of 
purest water, form the background of much of the 
view; now and then, one passes by a break in the 
mesa, displaying a grove of trees running back as 
far as the eye can reach. It is these bits that 
have the greatest influence in inducing one to 
accept their silent invitation. 

Oceanside is a small seaside resort, a remnant 
of what it was expected to become from the result 
of the " boom " in 1887. It still has its small quota 
of summer visitors; its still smaller number of lov- 
ers of the old times who stop over here for a day 
or two in order to make a pilgrimage to Mission 
San Luis Rey, only four miles distant. But the 
number who come to Oceanside to make the trip 
to Pala is so small as not to be worth the counting. 
And there the great mistake is made. 

Anyone visiting Pala is to be congratulated on 
the happy conjunction of three most interesting 
features of the trip. In the first place, the coun- 
try traversed is hardly excelled in this part of the 



Pala 

state for beauty of natural landscape, made up of 
river, valley and mountain, wild and sylvan, much 
of it untouched by the hand of man ; then one has 
Pala in prospect during the entire ride of twenty- 
four miles, and the prospect cannot make the reali- 
ty disappointing. But tlie third feature of this 
trip. Mission San Luis Rey, is far the best, and one 
that should not be refused a separate visit, if possi- 
ble ; for there is so much to see here that it cannot 
be done satisfactorily or adequately on the same 
day the trip to Pala is made. The number of 
those who visit San Luis Rey is to those visiting 
Pala as ten to one (I believe I should be much 
nearer the truth if I said one hundred to one). 
Still, it is, perhaps, better to make the trip to Pala, 
having a glimpse of San Luis Rey on the way, 
(which is easily done, for the road passes directly 
in front of the mission) than to forego Pala en- 
tirely for the sake of a longer time to devote to the 
more important object of interest. 

Mission San Luis Rey was founded in 1798, at 
the period of greatest activity in mission affairs in 
California. It was the last one of five which were 
started in that, and the preceding, year. Under 
the energetic and zealous direction of the famous 
father, Antonio Peyri, it reached, almost at a bound, 
a position at the head of the missions, leading all 
in number of neophytes, in wealth of land, cattle 
and produce, and in the size and grandeur of its 



Some By-Ways of California 

buildings. In 1826, the mission had enrolled 
two thousand, eight hundred and sixty-nine 
neophytes, its greatest number, and far in excess of 
the next largest establishment. The extent of its 
land was correspondingly great, and the produce 
and income received from it commensurate with 
the mission's standing as the superior of all. This 
high position was due to the untiring, whole-souled 
efforts of Father Peyri, the head of the mission. 

Father Peyri was born in Catalonia, Spain; he 
came to California from Mexico, in 1796. At first 
he was stationed at San Luis Obispo, but, on the 
founding of San Luis Rey, he was transferred to 
the new mission at its birth, and became its very 
life and soul. Here he spent practically the rest 
of his life, which was, as well, the life of the mission ; 
for only when all hope of averting the fate of the 
missions was given up by everyone, did he leave 
the work of his hand and heart. In 1831 he left 
California, returning to Mexico, and, later, to his 
old home in Spain. It was a sad day for the mis- 
sion when their loved and revered father left 
them. The story goes that Peyri was forced to 
leave secretly by night to escape the importunities 
of the neophytes who would have detained him, 
if necessary, by force. There was a cry of an- 
guish from the entire mission when the padre's 
flight was discovered, the next morning. At once 
several hundred started on horseback for San 



Pala 

Diego, where they found Peyri on board a sliip 
just getting under way out of the harbor. Prob- 
ably the neophytes had heard some rumors of the 
impending departure of their father and they de- 
termined to use all their eloquence to prevent that 
which, to them, must have looked like the end of all 
things; for, when Peyri left the mission, they, in- 
deed, could not fail to realise what, before that oc- 
curred, had, probably, seemed to them a vague, 
far-distant change in the existing order of things. 

But it was of no avail. Father Peyri, very 
likely, felt he had gone too far to change his plans, 
even had he desired to do so at that late hour. So 
he sailed away, praying, with streaming eyes, for 
the mission and its children he loved and had 
labored for so long. Had Peyri been endowed 
with greater strength of body, he would, very 
probably, have remained to undergo whatever the 
new regime might have in store for the missions; 
but he was too old and frail to cope successfully, 
and he felt that he could not bear the sight of the 
frustration of his life work, helpless as he knew 
he was to avert it. His, perhaps, was the wiser 
action, for nothing he could have done would have 
made the slightest difference in the result. 

Nothing is known of Peyri's last days farther 
than that he made a visit to Rome, and may have 
died there. When he left his mission, he took two 
neophytes with him, whom, later, he placed in the 



Some By- Ways of California 

Propaganda College at Rome, where they excited 
much interest; but they seem not to have been 
heard of in later days. 

Excepting only the saint-like Serra, Padre 
Peyri is the most beloved and revered of all the 
Franciscans who served in California. He had but 
one thought, and that was the betterment of his 
spiritual children, and the bringing them into 
Christ's fold. The father is remembered, to-day, 
by a few old Indians who speak of him with the 
utmost reverence and affection. His memory re- 
mains like the sweet, delicate fragrance of an early 
wild flower. 

One is amazed, at the first sight of the mission, 
to see the extent and magnitude of the buildings 
and ruins. In this respect, it is the most remarka- 
ble of all the missions, although, in the best days 
of both, it was excelled in beauty by Mission San 
Juan Capistrano. To pass through country al- 
most deserted by human beings, settled only by 
the smallest hamlets, and to come, at last, to a 
group of buildings such as those at Mission San 
Luis Rey — buildings that would adorn and enhance 
the interest of any place, no matter how large or 
how rich in architectural beauty — causes the be- 
holder to marvel at the indomitable energy of a 
single man who could produce such a result. It 
is almost incredible, and, indeed, would have been 
absolutely impossible, except at an amount of 

8 



Pala 

money not to be thought of by the missionaries, 
had not there been a practically unlimited number 
of workmen at the command of the father, and 
who, of course, were not paid for their time and 
labor. But granting this, think what the father 
and his few assistants had to contend with; think 
of the savage Indians, utterly ignorant of every- 
thing, requiring to be taught the simplest, most 
rudimentary things before they could work intel- 
ligently at the fabrication of the mission! That 
the father could have produced such a result with 
such, apparently, inadequate means increases one's 
amazement the more one thinks of this and 
examines the ruins. It is, indeed, only what 
was done at nearly all the missions; but, as 
San Luis Rey was the largest, so also was it es- 
tablished later than the other large missions, and 
reached its height of prosperous career in a much 
shorter time. The mission church now standing 
is supposed to be the one that was finished before 
the close of 1802, not five years after the birth of 
the mission itself, and in addition to the multiform 
cares pertaining to the building up of an establish- 
ment of this magnitude in what was hardly more 
than a wilderness. There seems to be no pres- 
ent knowledge of a later church building; and it 
is difficult to beHeve that, as Bancroft says, Father 
Peyri was not satisfied with it, and asked permis- 
sion to build another. But nothing farther seems 



Some By- Ways of California 

to be known concerning the matter. Every fact, 
every incident but reflects the more Father Peyri's 
undivided care for his mission. 

There was, it is true, an element of luck in the 
wonderful early prosperity of Mission San Luis 
Rey, which must have helped considerably in 
bringing it to take the place at the head of the 
missions in size and wealth. By 1798, the year 
of the founding, there were missions already es- 
tablished from San Diego to San Francisco, with 
the resultant subjection of large numbers of the 
savages of the surrounding country. Consequent- 
ly, when San Luis Rey was founded, not only was 
assistance from the missions near at hand to be 
obtained to enable it to make a more auspicious 
start in life; but the Indians of the neighborhood, 
although still gentiles, had, many of them, felt, in 
some measure, the influence of Missions San 
Diego and Capistrano. Yet their help, although 
it must have been appreciable, was more than off- 
set by the great population reached in 1826. Sure- 
ly, the number of converted savages — greater by 
nearly one thousand than the next largest mis- 
sion — was not due wholly to the ground being 
partly broken. 

The mission was built in the form of a huge 
square, with the domed church at one corner. The 
whole enclosed a patio in which was a fountain. 
The church is in the best state of preservation; in 

10 



Pala 

fact, was so little injured by time and neglect that 
its repair was a comparatively small matter. Much 
of the outside plastering has scaled off, showing 
the manner of construction, adobe faced with burnt 
brick. The altar end of the church suffered the 
greatest damage, and, at the time of my visit to 
the mission, in 1895, had not been repaired, al- 
though plans were under way to have it done 
shortly. Extending from the church's right, par- 
allel with its front, there are the remains of a long 
cloistered row of buildings, now only in ruins.* 

A few arches at the church end, in good 
condition, give an idea of what the whole was 
like, seventy-five years ago. At that time, the 
mission must have been a most wonderful one, for 
size, architecture and beauty, built up, as it was, 
in what might almost be called the heart of the 
wilderness ; with its lofty church at one corner, from 
which radiated rows of arches supported by large, 
square pillars; the whole of a dazzHng white, mak- 
ing it the one dominant object in the view from 
every quarter and as far as the topography of the 
ground would allow it to be seen. Travelers of 
those days speak of it in the most glowing terms. 

The remainder of the square formed by the 
buildings is in much delapidation; yet enough is 

*The writer speaks always of San Luis Rey as it was in 1895 
— he has not visited it since. This applies also to Pala, which he 
visited in the same year. 

II 



Some By-Ways of California 

left to show the extent of ground covered, and, in 
some spots, to give a good idea of the fine ap- 
pearance the mission presented when at the me- 
ridian of its life and beauty, a most fair object in 
the surrounding landscape. Scattered about here 
and there in the vicinity of the mission are adobe 
walls enclosing pasture land. San Luis Rey had 
immense herds of sheep and cattle: in 1828, there 
were nearly twenty-nine thousand sheep in pas- 
ture, its greatest number, after which it began to 
decline; but the horses continued to increase for 
some time. 

A few of the missions, particularly those es- 
tablished in the later days of mission history, like 
San Luis Rey, had a brief infancy and youth, 
reaching their maturity and the period of highest 
usefulness and greatest wealth in but few years; 
differing from the larger number, which had diffi- 
culties of all kinds to contend with and whose life 
was, in many cases, one of constant struggle and 
endeavor. But all the missions were alike in one 
respect — their end. Every one, without an ex- 
ception, was killed, almost in a day, by the act of 
secularisation passed by the government. The 
final result took place in 1833. The first inten- 
tion was to form pueblos from the missions, but 
only one — San Juan Capistrano, formed from the 
mission of that name — was an entire success. Las 
Flores was started with the Indians of San Luis 



12 



Pala 

Rey, but, as was the case with so many other 
pueblos, could not be called a success, although 
it, as well as the other pueblos in the south, had a 
longer life than those farther north. But the 
Indians, under the pueblo system, passed away, 
decreasing in numbers more rapidly than in the 
mission days — the inevitable result of all attempts 
to civilise the savage wherever he may be found. 
In 1844, there were only four hundred Indians at 
the ex-mission and the pueblo formed from it. 

It is a great contrast between those days, three- 
quarters of a century ago, with their mission life, 
so mild and beneficent, when the aborigines were 
taught something of a more civilised and moral 
conduct, and the present condition of the mission. 
We know that the missions could not have con- 
tinued to exist always as missions, for such a form 
of permanent, ecclesiastical government was out 
of the question; but it is a great pity that their 
early manner of Hfe might not have been changed 
gradually, and merged into the only kind of re- 
ligious influence possible at this late day. The 
change from the mission, and its autocratic life, 
to a mere parish church was too sudden and vio- 
lent for many of the missions, although most of 
the larger and more prosperous of them, after 
much struggle and hardship, made the change and 
continue to the present time. San Luis Rey, how- 
ever, the largest and finest, and the most extraor- 

13 



Some By- Ways of California 

dinary of the twenty-one in its wonderful life, 
seemed, like its beloved pastor, Father Peyri, (who 
fled the country rather than witness the death of 
his mission), to find the change at the time of sec- 
ularisation too much to bear. It died complete- 
ly, and, like so many of the smaller establishments, 
was deserted and left to the companionship of the 
bats and owls. 

Died completely, truly, but not for all time. 
After fifty years of rest, lying* peacefully in the 
golden sunshine of the long, warm summers, and 
washed by the gentle rains of winter, it has been 
called into a new life. On the 23d of May, 1893, 
the mission wakened to find itself once more a 
centre of usefulness and power for good in the 
country. On that day, the ex-mission became 
an ecclesiastical college for the education of candi- 
dates for the priesthood, and four youths from 
Mexico were invested with the habit of postulants 
in the new college. This great change was made 
possible, and brought about, by the remarkable 
zeal and authority of the Rev. J. J. O'Keefe, of 
Santa Barbara, who left his charge in that city 
to come here and begin his new work at the old 
mission. The task Father O'Keefe has set him- 
self is little short of herculean; for it must be re- 
membered there was not a single habitation at the 
mission — excepting the church itself — which was 
not in ruins; and be it remembered, likewise, that 

14 



Pala 

the great numbers of Indians — the laborers on the 
mission in the old days, and which alone made 
it possible to erect such an imposing collection of 
buildings — are no more. There are a few In- 
dians at the little town of San Luis Rey, but they 
are insignificant in numbers; and, in addition, it 
must not be forgotten that now all assistance from 
them has to be paid for in regular laborers' wages. 
The conditions are different, to-day, and the out- 
look must be enough to deter any but the mOvSt 
enthusiastic and zealous; for it is Father O'Keefe's 
intention to restore the ex-mission, so far as possi- 
ble or advisable, to what it was in former days. 
By the greatest good fortune, the church (naturally 
the most important building) has resisted the on- 
slaughts of time and vandalism to a far greater de- 
gree than has the rest; this will require practically 
little work to restore to a condition of permanent 
usefulness, and without loss of character of the 
original Moorish construction, which is a matter 
for congratulation to all interested in the architec- 
ture of the Spanish era of California's history. 

Father O'Keefe is a worthy successor to Peyri. 
Known and loved by every one, Protestant and 
Catholic, in Santa Barbara, he unites the most 
amiable qualities of character with that enthusiasm 
and strength of purpose necessary to accomplish 
the work he has laid upon himself, which made his 
predecessor's task so completely successful. 



Some By- Ways of California 

Father O'Keefe's course will be watched with in- 
terest, and his success awaited with the certainty 
of ultimate attainment. 

But we are lingering here too long. Leaving 
San Luis Rey reluctantly, (and one is strongly 
tempted to forego altogether the remainder of the 
trip to Pala in order to have the entire day for 
this historic ruin) the road continues along the 
San Luis Rey River, which is in sight for almost 
the whole twenty miles, first on the left bank for 
nearly a mile beyond the mission, then crossing by 
means of a ford, when the rest of the way lies 
on the north side of the stream. In the summer 
and fall, the San Luis Rey is nothing but a stream, 
and a small one at that, winding its tiny, serpentine 
path among the stretches of sandy flats which, in 
winter and spring, are covered sometimes with a 
roaring torrent. The luxuriant line of wood- 
growth along the river-banks shows clearly the 
influence the river has, and, indirectly, the large 
amount of water carried to the ocean; as, indeed, 
the sandy flats tell the same story. 

As we continue on our way up the river, which, 
in correct California style, but contrary to the gen- 
erally preconceived notion of rivers, grows larger 
as we advance, the road offers a finer and grander 
view, almost at every step. And it is along this 
fifteen or twenty miles, especially the last ten, may 
be found some of the most lovely scenery of 

i6 



Pala 

Southern California. As one advances, the coun- 
try becomes more verdant: clumps and groves, and 
forests, almost, among the hills, increase, cover- 
ing the ground which, until now, has been bare 
yellow and brown, the customary and characteris- 
tic color of this region for nearly two-thirds of the 
year. Those who feel the lack of trees and other 
verdure of Southern California may find here scen- 
ery which cannot fail to satisfy them in this respect: 
it is, in fact, much like the country among the 
White Mountains. The hills grow higher and 
closer together, until, finally, they seem to bar 
the way to any farther progress. Frequently, 
in early morning, as well as in periods of storm, 
these hills will be enveloped in clouds, hiding 
them entirely from sight, or covering their tops 
as with a cap, or banding them with long, waving 
streamers. This last arrangement lends an appear- 
ance of greater height to these hills — mountains, 
rather, for some of them have an altitude of many 
thousand feet. 

Twenty miles is a long drive, but one does not 
tire of this trip on account of the great diversity and 
interest of the country traversed; yet it is not al- 
together with regret that we see Pala coming into 
view. The little settlement — only a house or two 
besides those forming the mission — appears in 
sight but a short time before reaching it; it is 

17 



Some By- Ways of California 

too completely surrourided by hills to be seen from 
afar in any direction. 

It is a pity that Pala is so inaccessible: if it 
were otherwise the place would be swamped with 
tourists and visitors, for it is situated among some 
of the finest scenery to be found anywhere in 
Southern California. Yet the true lover of Pala 
cannot but be glad of this same inaccessibility; 
else it would, inevitably, lose its greatest charm — 
that of the untouched life of former days. Moun- 
tains are all about, on every side save toward the 
west, and the sea, twenty-four miles away; and 
even in that quarter they are but little lower and 
but little less crowded than on the rest of the hori- 
zon. The San Luis Rey, a short way south of 
the settlement, runs westerly through the valley, 
its course marked by a line of trees. 

With the exception of the landscape and the 
remains of the mission, there is nothing here of 
interest, for Pala is a small Indian community, 
and is scattered thinly over the surrounding coun- 
try, with no centre of population. Here at the 
mission, where are the postoffice and general mer- 
chandise store, both in one building opposite, there 
is more of a settlement than at any spot, until one 
goes farther up the river among the mountains, 
where, six miles beyond Pala, the Pauma Valley 
is reached, in which are a few Indian families liv- 
ing on their reservation. 

i8 



Pala 

But the visitor will turn his attention at once 
to the ruined mission close at hand. It com- 
prises a canipo santo at one corner, in the midst 
of which rises the bell tower, an unique feature in 
the country; for among all the missions there is 
not another like it. It is built of stone and cement, 
overlaid with white plaster which gleams in the 
bright sunlight There are two openings, one 
above the other, each containing a bell which has 
become toned by the weather to a golden green 
color — harmonising as well as contrasting most 
beautifully with the pure white of the walls. The 
tower is not square, but like a thick, flat wall, in 
which are the openings, ending by a series of 
curves in a pointed arch; on one side is a flight 
of steep steps leading up to the bells. The cem- 
etery, in which stands the tower, is almost as in- 
teresting. It is a small enclosure, with bare 
ground everywhere, and only a few bushes grow- 
ing in it. The graves are raised slightly above 
the rest of the soil; some of them decorated with 
shells around their borders, and a few enclosed in 
black or white fences. These latter appear to be 
family plots, for each fence surrounds a few graves, 
big and little, as if of one family. Few of the 
graves have dates or inscription, and these are 
the more recent ones; the older graves, for the 
greater part, bare of everything, and distinguisha- 

19 



Some By- Ways of California 

ble from the ground only by the slight, sometimes 
almost imperceptible, mound. 

About thirty feet from the tower is the be- 
ginning of the mission buildings; a long, low line 
of adobe, tiled roofed structure. Originally the 
buildings formed a square, about one hundred and 
fifty feet on a side, enclosing the usual patio; but 
all, excepting part of the front, is completely in 
ruins, some of it entirely obliterated. In the still 
habitable and occupied part is the church, whither 
the Indians flock for mass. The parish is under 
the present charge of the fathers at San Luis Rey, 
one of whom comes here every alternate Sunday 
for services. Here we see farther evidences of 
the usefulness of Mission San Luis Rey — Pala 
is again under their charge, as it was in days gone 
by; and not Pala alone, but San Juan Capistrano 
also. The Sundays Pala is not visited by the 
father are given to the other mission. 

Pala was founded in 1816 by the fathers at 
Mission San Luis Rey, under the name of San 
Antonio. We have spoken of it above as a mis- 
sion, but this is not strictly accurate. It was 
really founded as an asistencia, or branch, of San 
Luis Rey, and was never under a separate gov- 
ernment, although it grew, within two years, to be 
larger than several of the regular missions. There 
were a number of ranchcrias, or Indian settle- 
ments, within a radius of a day's journey from San 



Pala 

Luis Rey, at whicn the padres used to hold ser- 
vices at intervals; but Pala was the only one to be 
raised to the dignity of an asistencia, and to enjoy 
the residence of a priest. This region of Nueva 
California supported a large number of natives, 
and as they were milder and more easily and quick- 
ly subdued and civilised than those in many parts 
farther north, both Mission San Luis Rey, as 
we have seen, and her daughter, San Antonio, 
profited by it. It must be remembered, of course, 
that the Indians here, as was the case with the 
parent mission at its inception, had already felt, 
in a great measure, the foreign influence of the 
adjacent mission; and they formed, practically, an 
asistencia before Pala was duly made into one. 
But to visit San Luis Rey for religious, as well as 
general, instruction, was impracticable for so great 
a number; besides, most probably, crowding un- 
comfortably the mission church, large though it 
was. But the fact that San Antonio itself 
grew to be larger than Santa Ines, San Luis 
Obispo, and nearly twice as large as Santa Cruz, 
shows, almost as clearly as the phenomenal rise 
and growth of San Luis Rey, the enthusiasm and 
devotion of the presiding genius of both estabHsh- 
ments — Padre Peyri. 

San Antonio led a quiet life. More than a 
score of miles from the coast, the usual ground for 
political and ecclesiastical action, it was too isolated 



Some By- Ways of California 

to have a part in, or to be witness to, the few 
stirring events that occurred in the province from 
time to time, which go to make up general his- 
tory. Referring to Bancroft's history of the state 
— the most voluminous source for information of 
the ancient mission history — we find Pala men- 
tioned barely a half dozen times, and then to note 
only the most meagre facts, which have been in- 
corporated above.. 

Paraphrasing Carlyle, it can be said of San 
Antonio, happy is the mission whose annals are 
blank in history-books. The asistencia passed 
a happy, uneventful life, fostered and directed by 
the parent mission; it survived, too, in some 
measure, the fatal period of secularisation, and has 
remained until now, a simple, quiet Indian vil- 
lage, passing its days far from the busy turmoil 
of modern life, alone and almost forgotten. 

When Mrs. Jackson (" H. H.") was in Cali- 
fornia, she visited Pala for the purpose of learn- 
ing more of the status of the Indians in regard to 
the seizure of their lands; information which she 
utilised in her well-known endeavors to right, so 
far as in her lay, the wrong committed in the name 
of the government. The land question has been 
a burning one ever since California was ceded to 
the United States. That wrong has been done is 
pretty generally conceded; but many of the land 
titles under the Mexican law were so vague and 

22 



Pala 

loose, it was inevitable that some injury, fancied 
if not real, would be inflicted; and, as is the usual 
result, the Indians suffered the most severely. 
Pala had some experience with this trouble, al- 
though finally made into a reservation; but far 
greater sufferers were the Indians settled at 
Temecula and in the neighboring country, Indians 
who had been under the ministration of San Luis 
Rey. These were practically ousted bodily from 
their lands and forced to leave their old homes. 

It is hard to tear oneself from Pala: this peace- 
ful valley surrounded by towering mountains and 
hills; the ruined mission with its quaint campanario^ 
and two or three houses nearby, making up the 
little hamlet; the tree-fringed banks of the river 
cutting straight across the valley toward the west- 
ern horizon; and over and above all, bathing and 
transforming every object in the landscape with 
its radiance, the sunshine, a most potent factor 
everywhere in Southern California. Here San 
Antonio rests, dreaming of the " far off things " of 
days long gone by. Here may she pass still 
many years of peace, a silent witness to the simple 
life of the Indians; and to them may this valley al- 
ways be a home, unvexed by the rush and hurry 
of the outside world! 

November, 1899. 



^3 



The Mojave Desert 

IT IS a far cry from New York City to the 
Mojave Desert. There, one is in the heart 
of the most intense, high-strung Hfe in 
every phase — commercial, intellectual, aes- 
thetic, social — with all its attendant changes, sud- 
den and frequent, going to make up the modern 
city Hfe; here, where I am at this moment, it is as 
though one were in another world altogether, on 
another planet, the Moon, for instance, that sphere 
which shows what our planet will be in future 
aeons. The deserts of the world may well be liken- 
ed to the decayed spots on the surface of an apple: 
they are the beginnings of what will eventually be 
the condition of the entire world, when all water 
shall have been dissipated into space, or absorbed 
into the interior of the globe. 

Probably the most striking characteristic of the 
desert, and the one which the new-comer will no- 
tice first, is that of its silence and solitude. Often 
have I waked at night and been impressed with 
the intense stillness of all around. At such a 
time one almost believes he can hear the " music of 
the spheres," as he gazes at the stars, shining so 

24 



The Mojave Desert 

softly and steadily from out the deep, purple blue 
of the heavens. The stars, in Southern California 
generally, seem nearer the earth, have a warmer 
glow, and lose nearly all of the glitter of the eastern 
night sky. Here the stars seldom " twinkle." 
And the moon, in a more pronounced degree, po- 
sesses a warm, almost ruddy quality of light very 
rarely seen in the east; and the amount of light she 
sheds appears much greater than that to which we 
of the eastern coast are accustomed. Is it to the 
clear, thin, or dry quality of air this is due? Is 
it to one or all? But night is not the only time 
when this stillness may be almost felt: it occurs 
once in a while during the day when the air is 
motionless; but it is rare, for a fly or some other 
winged insect is usually to be heard during the 
warm, sunny hours of the day. 

Barring the wind — and the wind is an almost 
ever present quantity on the Mojave Desert — the 
sounds that may be audible from time to time are 
very few and well defined. The wind is, par 
excellence, the first and most prominent. It would 
be difficult to find a windier place — taking the year 
through — than this. No season escapes, summer 
and winter, spring and fall, all are alike in this one 
thing, that just about so often — once in three or 
four days — the wind will blow for twenty-four to 
thirty-six hours in a steady, hard gale. Some- 
times there will be an extra day of calm before the 

25 



Some By- Ways of California 

next blow sets in, or the wind may be less heavy 
than ordinarily; again, on the other hand, the still 
days may be wholly wanting for a week or more, 
or the wind may be extraordinarily fierce and pow- 
erful, before which the tent or light frame cabin 
of the desert dweller will be annihilated. The 
heaviest winds occur usually in March, but no 
month is exempt. 

The wind is so supremely obstreperous that af- 
ter mentioning it, it is, by no means, easy to decide 
upon what comes next in the list of desert sounds. 
Man is such a rare and insignificant object here, 
that he, with his accompanying horse or burro, 
and dog, and an occasional gun-shot, hardly counts 
as an item in this category. So, leaving out man 
as too trivial to be of use in this connection, prob- 
ably the next thing to make an impression, but at 
night only, are the coyotes. Take two or three 
coyotes, and the resultant noise and discord is not 
to be sneered at They are harmless, inoffensive 
animals, about as large as a medium-sized dog, 
and looking, at a little distance, much like one; 
indeed, they resemble the dog family in many 
respects, and are, I believe, a species of wolf or fox. 
They are seldom seen or heard during the day, 
but at night, from early evening till near daybreak, 
they may be heard at any time. Not that they 
are to be heard at any moment of the night, or 
even heard every night, for they are not so com- 



The Mojave Desert 

mon as that; but should they happen to be in your 
neighborhood, prowHng in search of food, you can 
hardly fail to hear their discordant cry — partly 
howl, partly bark, partly laugh almost; it is im- 
possible to describe it perfectly. 

More agreeable sounds are those denoting the 
bird-life of the desert. Birds are none too com- 
mon here, but there are always some in most parts 
of the desert, and in winter and early spring they 
are fairly numerous individually and by genera. 
The birds give more life to the desert than any 
other one thing: to see and hear them as they flit 
from bush to bush, or skim through the air chat- 
tering as they fly, or, in the early morning, to listen 
to their song, which they warble here just the same 
as in less lonely places in the state — all this im- 
parts to the desert the greatest portion of its small 
amount of brightness, and redeems it of much of 
its forbidding aspect. No place can be utterly 
desolate where any birds are found. The meadow, 
or, more strictly speaking, western, lark is the 
most interesting, as well as companionable bird I 
have seen on the desert. It is the representative 
species of lark of the western coast, and in more 
favored localities is one of the prominent birds of 
the state. Here, of course, it is not common, 
yet by no means rare, and its song, always beau- 
tiful, is in this particular section of the country, 
doubly so. Besides the lark there are sparrows, 

27 



Some By- Ways of California 

hawks, buzzards, quail and others. I have never 
seen a mockingbird out here, and hardly believe 
it ever comes so far from civilisation — it is a bird 
that needs the near presence of trees and flowers 
to be at home. 

An unpleasant sound, which sends a thrill 
through the most hardy, is the peculiar whirring 
made by the rattlesnake when alarmed and on the 
defensive. Once heard, it is never forgotten, and 
is a warning always heeded by the intruder. The 
rattlesnake is very common in some parts of the 
desert, and may be nearly always found wherever 
there are large rocks and boulders, A peculiar 
plant, growing hereabouts, is called snakeweed or 
rattlesnakeweed. It has a large seed-pod, and, 
in the summer and fall, after its period of growth 
is past, the seeds rattle in the dry pod with every 
breath of wind, producing a sound not unlike that 
of the rattlesnake when aroused. Even expe- 
rienced persons are sometimes deceived by this 
weed; but rattlesnakes are not usually found where 
this plant grows, which is in places free from rocks. 
Tarantulas, centipedes and scorpions make no 
sound as they travel over the ground, but they 
should not be left out in any enumeration of the 
life of the desert. They are not very common 
(the tarantula is the most so of the three), but 
enough to make everyone exercise caution in go- 
ing about in warm weather. Their bite is not 



The Mojave Desert 

fatal, but very painful; and no one ever travels 
on the desert without a generous supply of whis- 
key as an antidote to a bite from any of these 
venomous insects as well as from the rattlesnake. 
The horned toad, or, more properly speaking, horn- 
ed lizard, is found here occasionally. It is not a 
pretty animal, but an interesting one, and perfectly 
harmless, and is frequently tamed as a pet. A 
singular means of defence has this creature: when 
angry it ejects two or three drops of blood from 
its eye — or more properly from the orbit — to a 
distance of several inches — a startling thing when 
witnessed for the first time. I believe this blood 
is considered to be acrid and more or less poison- 
ous if it come in contact with a sore or abrasion 
on the skin. 

What is the general idea of the desert? Be- 
fore I had been across the continent, traveling over 
the " Great American Desert " and visiting the 
Mojave Desert, I used to imagine it as an immense, 
sandy waste, level and even, stretching as far as the 
eye could reach, perhaps with a low rise of ground 
here and there, yet hardly enough to be called a 
hill, and without the slightest vestige of vegetation. 
That was my idea of the desert, gathered for the 
most part from my school days when studying 
about the Desert of Sahara, and, I fancy, it is what 
arises in most people's minds when they speak of 
a desert. I have not seen the Saharan Desert, 

29 



Some By- Ways of California 

but the Mojaveis very different from the idea ex- 
pressed above. In the first place, much of it is 
mountainous or hilly, and I do not think there is 
any spot in the whole desert from which mountains, 
and good lofty ones too, cannot be seen. I have 
spent the last four months on the desert at an eleva- 
tion of over four thousand feet above the sea — 
no mean height for effects of temperature — and 
from the windows of our cabin I can see mountains 
over twelve thousand feet high, some of them dis- 
tant nearly one hundred miles. Of course, there 
are many spots — of great extent too — which are 
level as a floor, but the mountains are always on the 
horizon. Death Valley, the entrance to which is 
about fifty miles from my present headquarters, is 
an unknown region to me, but in that dread spot 
the mountains are ever present to sight, and I 
fancy that the general aspect of the landscape 
there is quite similar to this part of the desert; 
somewhat less vegetation — in places, I suppose, 
none at all, for I have heard that the humidity in 
some parts, at times, is not over two or three per 
cent. 

The extreme scantiness of vegetation, is, of 
course, the greatest characteristic of the desert 
landscape. With the exception of the yucca, no 
tree grows here, and in certain sections — this par- 
ticular spot where I am at present, for instance — 
even the yucca is absent. Tliis tree seems to have 

30 



The Mojave Desert 

favorite belts, where it flourishes, in some places 
growing so thickly as to form a real forest. It 
is most appropriate to the desert, sending up a 
bare, rough trunk, and branching toward the top 
into limbs covered closely with long, linear leaves 
of a dark, glossy green, looking, in all but color, 
like gigantic test-tube cleaners. One is reminded 
of Dore and his weird drawings of trees at 
the sight of these yuccas. In some parts of the 
mountains, and at high altitudes, forests of pine 
may be found, but they are not general. These 
trees are the only prominent vegetable object in 
the view anywhere, and we must descend from them 
to the humble plants of the ground for the next 
most important influence on the landscape. These 
are the low bushes covering the earth nearly 
everywhere and growing so closely that they affect 
the color to a marked degree. They are of two 
varieties, what are called, in common parlance, 
greasewood (Sarcobatus) and chamiza (Adenosfo- 
ma). There are, also, two or three species of the 
well-known mesquite to be found here, but this 
genus is represented by very humble specimens 
in this part of the desert. These plants grow from 
two to ten feet high, the greasewood dark green 
with black stems; the other brighter and more deH- 
cate, as well as smaller. Yet these plants are not 
so green as to give a general hue of green to the 
landscape. That cheerful color has no place here, 

31 



Some By-Ways of California. 

excepting only where the yuccas grow in such 
abundance as to present a soHd effect of color, and, 
also, a short time after the rainy season. These 
plants, with the yuccas, are the prevailing varieties 
of vegetation. There are others — such as the two 
species of Opuntia, the cholla and prickly -pear 
cacti, several small plants, almost like moss, grow- 
ing close to the ground, and some others, here and 
there — but they are few in number, as well as 
variety, and have no especial influence on the gen- 
eral effect. 

Water is, of course, never present in the general 
view, for that is almost a minus quantity ; the only 
water, in far the larger part of the desert, being 
tiny springs, which, visually, have to be developed 
to afford enough water to be of use to man. 

Color is one of the most surprising things con- 
nected w^ith the desert. Instead of the notion of 
our school-days, that the desert is one blinding glare 
of sand, with a grey sky overhead, we have, on the 
Mojave Desert, at least, a wealth of color hardly 
surpassed by any landscape in California, and no- 
where in the w^orld can richer, more vivid and 
glowing color be found than in California. On 
the desert, color, except at sunrise and sunset, is 
not so intense, locally and in opposition ; it is more 
quiet and subdued, running from the yellow and 
brown of the foreground, through warm greys and 
purples to the distant blues of the hills on the hori- 

32 



The Mojave Desert 

zon. But on the horizon, and at the close of the 
day, nature spreads out her most gorgeous color; 
the sunsets, particularly, are extraordinary in this 
respect, and absolutely unpaintable. Sometimes 
there is the most marvelous coloring everywhere 
on the horizon, the eastern hills glowing a pearly 
tint in the rays of the setting sun, while the west- 
ern sky will be a mass of molten yellow and red, 
almost painful to the eyes. Sunsets are unusually 
short-lived here, darkness coming on with almost 
startling rapidity. 

One such I saw here was exceptional even in 
this land of wonderful sunsets. Four of us, the 
two Messrs. C — , my brother, F — and myself, were 
driving from our cabin to Barstow, a distance of 
forty miles. We started at nine in the morning, 
later than we had intended, but somehow no one 
ever gets away from the camp, when starting for 
town or on any trip, at the time set beforehand; 
and on this particular occasion, the roads being 
very dry and the sand deep and heavy, we were 
a good twelve hours on the way. But the day 
was a beautiful one, the air still and warm, there 
being just enough cloudy haziness in the sky to 
temper the heat of the sun during the midday 
hours. At sunset, these clouds collected together 
in long, regular bars across the western sky; and, 
as the sun went down, they gathered up and ab- 
sorbed his own fiery radiance — intense, gleaming 

33 



Some By- Ways of California 

yellow, shading off into warm madder brown, 
while the upper rows of clouds faded into a pink 
that was hardly distinguishable from the vaulting 
blue of the sky. We were out on a large level 
stretch at the time, and had an unimpeded view 
clear around the horizon; and while the western 
sky was glowing with this wonderful wealth of 
color, in the east there was no less color beauty, 
although not so vivid. The mountains on the 
horizon were warm red and purple, the sky above 
shimmering grey and pink, with the blue shades 
of night creeping up over the tops of the moun- 
tains. In the west, a little above the horizon, 
toward which it was hurrying to drop behind the 
hills, was the new moon, 

" No bigger than an unobserved star, 
Or tiny point of fairy cimetar." 

It was one of those rare evenings in this part 
of the world, when the sunset colors faded less 
quickly, and we four gazed at it until night was 
full upon us, letting the horses, unheeded, plod 
along at their own gait. To my mind arose the 
beautiful lines of Wordsworth's " Ninth Evening 
Voluntary." 

The clouds, as in every landscape, play an im- 
portant role. During the rainy season, which is 
the winter here, they present an almost daily vary- 
ing view. Now, the sky will be spotted here and 

34 



The Mojave Desert 

there with fleecy cirrhus clouds, so high as to seem 
of the ether in which they float; again, vast level 
stretches of clouds, dark grey and wintry looking, 
will appear covering the distant mountains, turn- 
ing eventually into rain or snow storms; at another 
time, a thick, ominous-looking cumulus cloud will 
roll up from tlie hills, and rush along the ground, 
black and forbidding, driven furiously by the wind. 
Our altitude is such that a cloud like this appears 
actually to touch the ground as it passes over the 
lower level beneath us. After a rain, I have seen 
the low-lying clouds pass away from the sides of 
the hills, like a great sheet of cotton rolling up into 
a high mound, leaving the ground dark and glis- 
tening with the rain-drops. Being so high, we 
are not infrequently enveloped in the clouds during 
a storm, when everything will be obliterated as in 
the densest fog. 

One or two snow-storms are expected every 
winter. We had one in January, which was a gen- 
uine storm of squalls, such as occur in New Eng- 
land. Four great rushing snow squalls had we dur- 
in the day, and. at night-fall the ground was white 
with the fast-falling flakes. It was hard to believe, 
then, that we were in Southern California, on the 
desert, though it might be. But these are rare, 
most of the precipitation being rain; many times 
raining here when higher up in the mountains it 
will snow. In the summer there is no rain, ex- 

35 



Some By-Ways of California 

ccpt, very rarely, a thunder-shower. These are 
sometimes severe, a cloud-burst occurring last 
summer, which tore down the side of a hill not far 
from here, leaving great furrows to mark its vio- 
lence. 

After the rainy season, in the late spring, the 
desert literally blossoms as the rose. Wild flow- 
ers in countless numbers cover the ground and 
hillsides as with a carpet. The color then is gor- 
geous in the extreme. I have not seen it, and 
shall not be here when it comes this spring, but 
I am told it is similar to what is found in the fertile 
lands near the coast, only later in the season as the 
altitude is so much greater. If so, I know what 
it is like, for I have seen the coast lands in the 
bloom of spring, when color riots in glorious tints. 
I remember one spring, four years ago, when I 
was driving through the country near San Diego. 
The ground was undulating with low, rounded 
hills, covered with bloom of the most vivid color: 
here a patch, acres in extent, of the tenderest yel- 
low-green; beyond, another spot, perhaps a mile 
or two in length and as many wide, of the brightest 
lemon yellow; and each and all spangled at in- 
tervals with blotches of scarlet, red and blue. 
Nothing but the color of sunset can surpass such 
hues. Yet I fancy the desert does not present 
quite such a mass and color as this: the altitude 
militates against it, as well as the smaller rain- 

36 



The Mojave Desert 

fall, and the ground, as I have seen it in the 
autumn and winter, does not appear to be 
thickly enough sown to produce the result seen 
on the coast land. 

I have not yet mentioned the dry lakes found 
on the desert. They are singular objects, and are 
very numerous in this section of the country. At 
a distance, and in certain lights — notably early 
morning and before sunset — they have all the ap- 
pearance of ordinary bodies of water, lying there 
shining placidly in the sun's rays; but a nearer 
approach shows them for what they are — the beds 
of former lakes, baked hard and dry under the 
blazing sun. They are smooth as a board, but not 
all of the same firmness. These lakes are grad- 
ually growing smaller, as each year the surround- 
ing vegetation encroaches more and more, spread- 
ing over the boundary; until finally, at some future 
time, they will disappear altogether. These lakes 
are the remains of former lakes, or, perhaps, of 
one large lake or inland sea; for all this region, 
with the exception, perhaps, of the tallest moun- 
tains, was onc^ under water, the geology of the 
country showing sedimentary deposits nearly 
everyw'here. It is, I believe, considered generally 
to belong to the Quaternary lake deposits, much of 
the ground being made up of slate of the Jurassic 
period, sandstones, rhyolite and tufaceous rocks. 
It is a most interesting region in which to study 

37 



Some By- Ways of California 

geology, the nakedness of the hills showing alluvial 
strata in the plainest manner. At the same time 
rocks of igneous origin may be found frequently. 

One of the most singular views to be seen in 
this region is the Calico Hills, a range of moun- 
tains on the western border of the desert. They 
get their name on account of their color, which 
resembles more a piece of calico than anything 
else. From a distance they are not very different 
from other hills, as their brilliant colors are toned 
by the aerial perspective; but as one nears them, 
they spread out on the right hand and on the left, 
displaying their colors in well defined patches — 
red, yellow, violet, bright green, pink, with here 
and there streaks of crimson and brown — all sharp- 
ly outlined one from another, like a piece of gaudy 
calico. Gaudy is, indeed, the word which most 
accurately describes these fantastic hills. On a 
closer investigation, they are seen to have a core 
of rhyolite which, in the particular spot where I 
crossed the hills, was red in color; overlying this, 
were the rocks of the various colors, violet, green, 
etc. These latter occur as a covering to the un- 
derlying rhyolite, forming, at the top of each hill, 
a thick coating of small broken rock which, as it 
reaches the lower level, thins out until the red sub- 
stratum is seen, bare of covering. Each hill has 
its own particular color, no hill, so far as I could 
see, having more than one color of rock covering 

38 



The Mojave Desert 

the rhyolite. The top layer of rock is mostly tufa, 
but partaking of the character of the underlying 
rhyolite. 

The Mojave Desert is a valuable mining region, 
although still in its infancy as a mineral producer. 
There are mines of gold, silver, copper, turquoise, 
marble, borax, and so on. At Randsburg, several 
gold mines have turned out very successful; near 
Dagget are some silver and borax mines, the for- 
mer, however, from the recent low price of silver, 
having shut down for a time. There is a tur- 
quoise mine, the Danby, that has turned out some 
fine specimens of that stone, much of which is ship- 
ped to Tiffany's. Copper, as yet, has attracted 
little attention, most prospectors hunting for gold; 
but where I have been for the last four months, 
there are large deposits of copper, so all surface 
indications show, and the district, very soon, is to 
be in active operation. If indications fail not, 
this, eventually, will be one of the richest mining 
districts in the world, not surpassed by the famous 
Lake Superior copper deposits. Ten years, per- 
haps much les5, will see a vast difference in this 
part of the desert. 

This is the present aspect of the desert. Of 
what it was one, two, or three centuries ago, we 
can only conjecture. That the physical character- 
istics were different is improbable, in so geologi- 
cally short a time; possibly there was greater 

39 



Some By-Ways of California 

abundance of water, perhaps the dry lakes, then, 
holding bodies of water; if so, probably, vegetation 
was both more luxuriant and wide-spread. But in 
those days there were some inhabitants of these 
waste lands. The Indians, mostly of the Piute 
tribe, were here, and have left their trace in many 
parts. Here and there, rocks have been cut with 
their hieroglyphics and pictographs, markings still 
plain and clear, which should be preserved by 
means of photographs, if they have any historical 
or legendary value. Of this, I cannot say, for I 
nave never heard of any examination made of 
them by an ethnologist. Occasionally arrow- and 
spear-heads are found, and once in a while one 
runs across a grave on a hillside, showing that 
the Indians, however few in numbers they may 
have been, were a permanent feature of the desert. 
They are gone now — I have not seen or heard of 
an Indian in my four months' sojourn. Yet there 
are still a few to be found toward the north, roam- 
ing the desert as of old ; but they seem not to come 
so far south as this. Perhaps it is too near civili- 
sation to suit them. 
January, 1899. 



40 



Leaves from an Artistes Diary 

MISSION SAN FERNANDO, California, 
Friday evening*, June — , 1895.— Well! 
Here we are at last, after being nearly 
two days on the road from Capistrano, 
reaching the mission early this morning. Started 
at sunrise, yesterday, from our night camp just be- 
low Santa Ana, and traveled all day, till nightfall, 
when we were still far from San Fernando. That 
may seem a long time to take for a jaunt of little 
more than fifty miles, but marketing in Orange, and 
doing several necessary errands in Los Angeles, as 
well as taking nearly two hours to drive through 
the city, used up a good part of the day; and sun- 
down overtook us in the middle of an immense 
field of wheat, ready and waiting to be cut, through 
which the road passed. Coming at last to a 
group of buildings, which turned out to be the 
headquarters of the men who were harvesting the 
grain, we stopped to enquire our way to San Fer- 
nando. The man we asked, evidently an over- 
seer, was a surly fellow, and replied shortly, to our 
dismay, that we were five miles from the town. 
After a moment, we asked if he would permit us to 

41 



Some By-Ways of California 

water our horses at the trough inside the fence. 
The man's only answer was to turn on his heel and 
walk off to the house near-by. He must have 
taken us for tramps — we looked like them, I sup- 
pose, but tramps usually do not travel with a two- 
horse team. Rebuffed and provoked at the pro- 
ceedings, we drove away and, as soon as we were 
out of sight of the settlement, turned off the road 
and drove into the wheat field on our right, and 
made our camp for the night there, hidden among 
the tall stalks of the grain. Fearing to be caught 
in our trespassing, we made a small fire which we 
kept going just long enough to fry some eggs and 
make coffee. Jose was more afraid than I, and 
strongly objected to my lighting the lantern, but 
I told him I was going to see what I was about 
while washing the dishes; so I proceeded to light 
up, but, I will confess it here, raised the wick barely 
enough to make out dimly what I was doing. 
Fortunately, the moon was nearly full, and had just 
risen, so we had sufficient light to go to bed by 
without any artificial aid. " Early to bed and 
early to rise " is the rule in camping, and this time 
we outdid ourselves; for the first faint trace of 
dawn had hardly appeared in the sky before we 
were awake and stirring. Preparing and eating 
breakfast as hastily as we had supper the night 
before, we loaded up the wagon, harnessed the 
horses, which had feasted royally on their stolen 

43 



Leaves from an Artistes Diary- 
foraging the whole night long, and drove off quiet- 
ly toward San Fernando. Thus we had our re- 
venge of the man who would not be obliging to us. 

This morning was cold and foggy, at times 
approaching rain. We drove on, and, at last, came 
to the end of the seemingly endless fields of wheat, 
which appeared to cover the whole extent of the 
valley, and had, for a change, eucalyptus trees and 
vegetable gardens, and an occasional house, here 
and there. At last, about nine o'clock, we came 
into sight of the mission, away off in the distance, 
which we recognised at once from the familiar 
long row of arches, extending the whole length of 
the building. Jose, as usual, was the first to dis- 
cover the mission — he was looking out for it, while 
I was too much occupied in noting the grey colors 
of the foggy landscape to give much attention to the 
discovering of our destination, knowing well my 
companion would not miss seeing it anyway. As 
soon as we arrived at the mission, we reconnoitred 
it on all sides, and selecting a good place for camp- 
ing, we asked permission of the foreman to stay 
there for a few days. Permission was readily 
granted, on condition we did nothing but sketch 
and examine the ruins. 

We spent the rest of the morning unloading 
our wagon, laying in a supply of hay for the horses, 
and getting settled generally. About ten o'clock 
the fog lifted and the sun came out bright and 

43 



Some By- Ways of California 

warm, pleasing us greatly. After dinner, which 
we made quite elaborate and ate with deliberation, 
in recompense for our two meagre and hurried 
meals, I selected a subject for sketching and set to 
work, at which I remained until late. Perched 
on the wagon, from which Jose had taken away 
the horses after driving me to the spot, I was the 
object of interest to all the laborers on the place, 
as they passed and repassed to and from their work ; 
but they were very polite, and annoyed me far less 
than many so-called educated people, who are sup- 
posed to have better manners. Work ended for 
the day, we had supper, and, as is my custom, 
before retiring for the night, I have made these 
few entries in my diary. 

Saturday, June — . Had a beautiful sight, last 
night, just before going to sleep. The moon was 
hardly above the tops of the hills, on which it shed 
its mellow light, making a most lovely scene; while 
in the west the last gleams of the rosy, summer 
sunset were fading rapidly away. The combina- 
tion of the two in one single whole was enchanting. 

Worked all day with paints and brushes, and 
finished the day's work with a pencil sketch of one 
end of the group of buildings, which was particular- 
ly interesting from its picturesque ruinous condi- 
tions. I am working furiously fast, for me, a slow 
worker, for my time is limited, and there is so 
much I long to copy that the half or quarter can- 

44 



Leaves from an Artist's Diary 

not be done. The day was fair and warm, and 
there was no fog, this morning, to delay me in 
getting to work. The afternoon wind here is very 
strong, and though rather annoying on account 
of drying my paper so rapidly, tempers the heat of 
the sun which, without it, would be uncomfortably 
hot. 

I have been racking my brains for days trying 
to think of something for Jose to do. My com- 
panion has simply to take care of the horses, cook, 
and in such various ways to help me; he has, 
beyond these, nothing to do, and finds time hang 
heavy on his hands. Not being able to read (I have 
been giving him lessons for some time now, in re- 
turn, on his part, for lessons in Spanish), he has 
not that refuge, although he spends a part of each 
day in studying in a First Reader. That, walk- 
ing about the country and sleeping, make up his 
list of occupations while I am working; and even 
these cannot be pursued all day long. He is as 
good and patient as can be, but I know all the 
time he longs to be back home and at his usual 
work, from which I took him to come with me. 
This afternoon, while he was talking with me in 
the midst of my work, I had a sudden inspiration, 
and told him I was going to show him how to 
use my camera, which I have hardly touched since 
starting, and to have him take pictures for me. 
At first he demurred, saying he could not learn 

45 



Some By- Ways of California 

how to do it, would injure the camera, and so on; 
but, after my showing him how easy it was, I told 
him of two or three places I wanted photographed, 
and sent him off. The thing worked like a charm. 
He started away, and it was more than an hour be- 
fore I saw him again. On his return, I asked 
him what success. He said he had taken two 
pictures, one of the ancient date palms and one of 
the church entrance. The interior of the church, 
he said, was not lighted well at that time of day for 
a photograph. He is going to try it, to-morrow 
morning. I am interested to see with what quick- 
ness he has learned to know the proper light ef- 
fects and when a picture will be good or not. 
But to think of his making only two exposures! 
Did anyone ever hear of that before on first trial 
of a camera? Of course, it being my camera had 
something to do with it, yet I fully expected him 
to expose at least ten or a dozen times. But I 
am delighted to have found something for him 
to do to help while away the hours, and am only 
sorry I did not think of it long before. 

It was pleasant to get back to camp, to-night, 
and have supper hot from the fire; for since I 
started out on my trip, I have been hungry for 
every meal, and often long before meal time. This 
life in the open air, close to Nature, is a tonic which 
beats any medicine out of sight. 

Sunday evening, June — . Have had a varied 

46 



Leaves from an Artist's Diary 

day, and a very lively one, this afternoon, for such 
a, usually, quiet, lonely place. As it was Sunday, 
I thought it best to get as much out of sight from 
the mission as possible, while at work. Whether 
campers, as a rule, keep the Sabbath, I know not; 
but with me, Sunday, I am sorry to say, has been 
as much a workday as any other. So, immediately 
after breakfast, I drove through the field in front 
of the mission, about a quarter mile and, after se- 
lecting my vantage ground, set to work. It was 
a damp, chilly morning; the fog was low on the 
hills and, at times, so heavy that it fell like fine 
rain, and I had to protect my paper with an um- 
brella, while working. When ready to color, I 
stopped to deliberate. To paint or not to paint? 
Shall I paint it with cloudy sky, or wait for the 
sun to come out? The fog may Hft and clear in- 
side of a half-hour; and, again, it may remain this 
way till noon. What to do? I waited a half hour 
— no change. Well! I cannot sit here all the 
morning and do nothing: I am going to set to 
work anyway and risk it. So I began, and, the 
circumstances acting as a spur, painted, as I sel- 
dom paint, for three hours, and then stopped for 
the morning. Fortunately, the fog did not lift until 
a short time before I left off work, and I had a 
morning of such color — grey and sombre — as I 
like best. 

This afternoon, I took the cemetery adjoining 

47 



Some By- Ways of California 

the church for my seat of operations, to make a 
shght sketch of the side door of the building, in- 
cluding a grave close by; while Jose drove away 
to the town, a mile distant, to buy some bread if 
he should find the store open. After a time, I 
grew so hot there, sitting in the sun, with not a 
breath of air stirring — the high wall of the church 
shutting off every particle of breeze — that I could 
not endure it; so I left my work and wandered off 
into the cool interior of the church, where I passed 
nearly an hour in idle revery. Recollecting, at 
last, I was w^asting too much time, I took up my 
post once more, and worked, regardless of the heat 
which had then become less unbearable. After 
a while I heard voices, and presently two old wom- 
en and three children came into sight over the 
brow of the hill, at the end of the burial ground, 
chattering and laughing. I soon saw they w^ere 
Mexicans, bent on a Sunday visit to the cemetery. 
As soon as they spied me, they came to see what 
I was doing, and various exclamations about 
*' la piierta " and *' cl campo sanfo " were uttered — 
but more than that I could not gather. Presently, 
appeared an aged Mexican woman, with grey hair, 
and wearing spectacles, which lent to her round 
face a very droll expression. Of course, she was 
acquainted with the others, and all set up a chatter- 
ing, like so many magpies. It was only now and 
then I could gather a word, and not enough to 

48 



Leaves from an Artist's Diary 

understand what was said; but I knew I and my 
work were the subject of conversation, especially 
with the old woman in spectacles. Why, was ex- 
plained later; for after a time, she walked over to 
the fenced-in grave I had been sketching, on which 
was set up a wooden cross, painted black and or- 
namented with lace, and with a look of pride, said 
to me, '* Este es el mio." I wanted to ask the name 
of the old seiiora, to write on my sketch; but was 
not sure it would be considered polite, so refrained. 
Presently drove up a carriage filled with more Mex- 
icans, and then the hubbub that followed was dis- 
tracting. The last comers were young fellows 
with their best girls, I could see at a glance; very 
good-looking people, all of them, and the girls 
well dressed. One of the young ladies soon mo- 
nopolised the attention of all by relating a tale 
which must have been extremely amusing, judging 
from the shouts of laughter with which it was re- 
ceived. Being told in Spanish, and with the ut- 
most speed, I gathered only one word of any im- 
port of the whole — " pelando." What does pclando 
mean? My limited supply of Spanish did not in- 
clude this word, and I had no one to ask in my 
ignorance. 

Soon after the conclusion of this highly enter- 
taining story, the whole party prepared for depar- 
ture^ sauntering slowly from the cemetery. One 
young senorita, at the last moment, turned back 

49 



Some By-Ways of California 

and walked up to a grave, enclosed within a fence, 
as is the custom, and, leaning over, plucked a 
large pink rose growing at the top of a tall bush 
decorating the grave. Just at that instant, the 
Chinese cook, working at the mission, ambled into 
view through the church doorway. Catching 
sight of this act of desecration, he called out to the 
girl, speaking in the peculiarly drawling tones of 
most Chinamen when talking English, and with, 
apparently, great earnestness, as he prolonged the 
sound of the first two words: 

" Oh, muchacha ! [girl] you catchum flower; dev- 
il catchum you ! " 

But the muchacha, it appeared, was willing to 
take the consequences; for, with a merry laugh, 
she hurried of¥ to her companions, waving the rose 
in triumph. It was comically funny. 

On their disappearance, I was left, once more, 
to the company of the doves and swallows flying 
constantly in and out of the church ruin. 

After a time, Jose returned, with some bread, 
and a pie, as a luxury for our table. He had 
passed a pleasant afternoon watching some horse- 
racing in the town, and was in good spirits the 
rest of the day and evening. While we were eat- 
ing our supper, I thought, suddenly, of the word 
which had perplexed me so much. 

"Jose, what does pelando mean?" 

" Skinning," was the laconic reply. 

50 



Leaves from an Artist's Diary 

Skinning! Now what do you suppose that 
story was all about, with pelando occurring more 
than once? I related to Jose the episode, and we 
speculated for some time on what the tale could 
have been. 

Monday, June — . This morning, I ended my 
sketch begun yesterday. The usual morning fog 
cleared at an early hour, but, luckily, I had brought 
my work so nearly to completion, yesterday, that 
I had not much trouble in putting in the remaining 
details, even with the sun shining brightly on the 
landscape. About ten, I finished my painting, and 
spent the rest of the morning in idleness, watching 
the changes of light and shade in the scene before 
me, and listening to the meadow larks, singing 
everywhere in the fields. 

This afternoon, I sketched the ancient palms 
towering above the olive trees in the orchard the 
other .side of the stream. These oHve trees are 
very oJd, but lack, by many years, the age of those 
at Mission San Diego, which are among the oldest, 
if not quite the oldest,, in the state. As the sun 
went down behind them, the efifect of the dazzling 
golden yellow of the sky, contrasted with the al- 
most purple black of the trees, was extremely fine. 
But such vivid color cannot be rendered with paints 
and brushes, with any near approach to truth. 
A suggestion of the reality is all that can be given, 
and I have carefully avoided such subjects and 

SI 



Some By-Ways of California 

impressionistic effects during my whole trip. My 
object has been more topographic — photographic, 
I might almost say — than impressionistic. Truth 
I have kept ever in mind, as of the first importance 
in these sketches, which I intend for a particular 
purpose,* but after truth — cold, sober truth — 
I give myself up to color under all conditions 
which will not obliterate too much architectural 
detail of these missions, as well as the topographic 
truths of their surroundings. 

A short time ago Jose went down to the stream 
nearby to shoot a cotton-tail which, he said, he 
had seen there, this afternoon, while watering the 
horses. He had not been gone more than fifteen 
minutes, when I heard the report of his gun, and 
saw him pick up his prey. He is now engaged 
in preparing it for breakfast. We have found 
game very scarce everywhere: all we have had 
are one quail and two rabbits, to-night's rabbit 
being the third. 

Tuesday evening, June — . My last evening at 
San Fernando, as to-morrow we start for San 
Gabriel; and I shall leave this place with much 
more regret than I thought possible when I came, 
even exceeding what I felt on leaving Capistrano. 
I spent this morning in sketching one of the old 
grated windows and the door in the front build - 

*The sketches made by the writer on this trip were used in 
illustrating his book, The Missions of Nueva California, 



Leaves from an Artistes Diary 

ing, after which I explored, so far as I was per- 
mitted, the different deserted rooms. 

Although I had, before coming here, but a 
hazy idea of the mission, yet I had always thought 
of it as the remains of a once small and unimpor- 
tant establishment. When, therefore, I saw, for 
the first time, two large, imposing buildings, stand- 
ing among a mass of ruined houses and walls, 
which covered some eight or ten acres, I was 
astonished that I could have had such a mistaken 
conception of it. 

The two main buildings, the monastery and the 
church, are in fair preservation; the former quite 
intact, affording a comfortable dwelling for the 
farm laborers staying there. It is a long, impos- 
ing, rectangular, one-storied building, with the 
round-arched cloister, common to many of the 
missions: the rooms are large, but quite dark, on 
account of the few windows, heavily barred with 
iron grating. It is a satisfaction to see the old 
tiled roof still remaining; although, in several places, 
it is broken in, making large holes which should 
be repaired to preserve the building.* But 
its broken condition is, to a lover of the 
picturesque, far preferable to a new, firm 
roof, particularly if built of ugly grey shingles, 
with which so many of the Missions are repaired. 

*Thii has since been done by the Landmarks Club of Los 
Angeles. 

53 



Some By-Ways of California 

A shingled roof on one of these old Spanish 
cloisters and adobe buildings is an incongruity 
which makes one shudder. 

Back of the monastery, distant about one hun- 
dred yards, is the church, a large, tall building of 
adobe; the four walls are practically whole, but the 
roof is nearly gone — only the beams and a few tiles 
still cHnging to them, at one end, remaining.* All 
detailed ornamentation — never much, at the best, in 
these missions; as, indeed, they are finer and more 
impressive without it — has perished; but, barring 
the roof, the general view of the church from a 
little distance is only slightly marred by its ruined 
condition. 

A line of smaller ruined houses connect these 
two principal buildings, the three forming parts 
of three sides of a square, which was completed 
on the fourth side by a similar row of buildings 
now in ruins. The whole formed the patio, or open 
court, the arrangement in building carried out at 
nearly all of the missions in California. 

How unerringly the old padres selected lovely 
sites for their missions! Their choice could not 
have been happier, in most instances, had they 
been artists or landscape gardeners, devoting all 
their days to the study of the beautiful and pic- 
turesque in Nature. This example of Mission San 

*Since re-roofed by the Landmarks Club. 

54 



Leaves from an Artist's Diary 

Fernando is one of the finest I have seen. San 
Fernando Valley is unusually full of topographic 
and color beauty; pictures of surpassing interest 
and artistic quality being had from every point of 
the compass. What finer view would one care 
to have than that to be seen from my camp be- 
hind, and close to, the old church ruin, looking off 
across the valley toward the San Fernando Moun- 
tains, on the northwestern horizon? At this time 
of the year, when the ground is yellowed by the 
dry stubble of the harvested grain, marked, here 
and there, by a dark green bush or tree, contrast- 
ing so perfectly with the deep, warm purple hills on 
the horizon, and, over all, the intense blue sky, 
cloudless but for a few light straw-colored streaks 
across its expanse — could an artist ask for a finer, 
more perfect subject for his brush? Why cannot 
I stay here a month instead of five days — yes, three 
months would be none too long, even when I have 
to consider the other places I must visit, and my 
limited time for all? However, I am very happy 
to have had these few short days here, tantalising 
as they have been, for the very reason that 
they were so few and so short. 

While eating supper, Jose told me he saw an- 
other rabbit, to-day, near the spot where he shot 
the one we had for breakfast, this morning; and 
said he was going to get it for to-morrow's break- 
fast. I asked him if he expected to find it again 

55 



Some By-Ways of California 

in the same place. Of course, he answered, it 
would come for a drink. So off he went, and, sure 
enough, in a few minutes, he returned with the 
rabbit. Poor little thing! It had been eating 
its supper; for a bunch of tender, young grass was 
sticking out of its mouth, I wish I could restore 
it its life; but, to-morrow morning, I shall be glad 
to have it for breakfast, I fear, without one regret- 
ful thought. 

Mission San Gabriel. Wednesday evening, 
June — . Left San Fernando, this morning. I 
would give much to have been able to stay longer, 
but it was out of the question, and I had to tear 
myself away. Whether I look at it from the camp- 
er's or the artist's point of view, my five days' stay 
there was an ideal one. A sportsman, or one 
fond of company, would find it, to the last degree, 
dull; for both game and company are scarce; but 
an artist or idler could not find a more perfect 
spot, and to one, like myself, combining some- 
thing of the artist with more of the idler, a place 
like this remains forever affectionately in memory. 

1895. 



s« 



The Home of Ramona. 

PROBABLY no place of interest in Southern 
California, outside of the cities and larger 
towns, is better known by name to every 
traveler in the state than is Camulos; due 
entirely to Mrs. Jackson's making use of the rancho 
as the setting for her well-known story. The history 
of Ramona, as told by her creator, appeals to three 
classes of readers: to the general novel reader, 
who takes up every new story as it comes from 
the press; to the admirer of Mrs. Jackson, for her 
writings, and for the interest and sympathy she 
displayed for the Indian and his wrongs, and for 
her endeavors to do all in her power to ameliorate 
his condition; and to the traveler or dweller in the 
state, who has become fascinated by the early his- 
tory of California, and the local atmosphere of 
those days which has fled from the land, leaving 
but a vestige, here and there, to show us what the 
early Spanish California life was like. These 
three classes of readers of Ramona make a large 
number who are familiar with the story and with 
the musical name of her childhood and girlhood 
home. 

57 



Some By- Ways of California 

Althoijgh Camulos is so well known by name, 
it is, rather singularly, visited by a relatively small 
number of tourists in the state. Singularly, be- 
cause no place is more easily accessible, or visited 
with less trouble and fatigue. But Camulos, while 
on the railroad running from Los Angeles to Santa 
Barbara, and having a station close by the settle- 
ment, seems to be hardly enough of an attraction 
in itself, alone, to induce the average tourist to 
break his trip to Santa Barbara in order to visit 
an old Spanish rancho. A further reason may 
be due to the fact that, acording to the present 
schedule, there is a long wait between the morn- 
ing and afternoon trains passing through the place 
— an interval of six or seven hours, as one may be 
bound to Santa Barbara or to Los Angeles. As 
the rancho can be seen in every detail open to the 
public in an hour's time, few persons seem to 
care to use the better part of a day for a visit 
to it. Then, in addition, the traveler must take 
a luncheon with him, or go without a midday 
meal; for there are no accommodations for refresh- 
ments. The station is intended solely as a ship- 
ping point for the products of the rancho. 

Perhaps the most satisfactory way to pay a 
visit to Camulos is to leave the train at Piru City, 
two miles to the west; a little place, city only in 
name, but possessing a good country hotel, where 
a fair dinner may be had. Afterward, a short 

58 



The Home of Ramona 

drive of two miles, through the valley on land be- 
longing to the Camulos estate, through which run 
both road and railroad, brings one to the rancho. 

The Santa Clara is a fertile, well watered valley, 
reaching from the mountains, east of Camulos, 
westward to Ventura, and the ocean, over thirty 
miles away. Hills, in well-ordered ranks, border 
it on either side, breaking away gradually into 
smaller and lower masses as they range ofif into 
the west and approach the sea. These hills, in 
the neighborhood of Camulos and Piru, have little 
forest vegetation, and are rather desolate in the 
bright light of midday; but, later in the afternoon, 
when they are cast into shade by the declining sun, 
they become great masses of purple-grey, appear- 
ing twice as high as they in reality are. During 
these later hours of the day, and particularly at 
sunset. Nature here, as at every other spot in 
Southern California, displays her power in coloring 
the landscape with all the wonderful tints of her 
palette. 

Through the middle of the valley extends a 
line of bright, vivid green, made up of the grain 
fields, and clumps and rows of trees, tall, straight, 
needle-like eucalypti, great, rounded black walnuts, 
and bright yellow-green cottonwoods — these mark 
the course of the Santa Clara River, a never fail- 
ing source for the vegetation along its borders, 
even in the dryest years : it is the life of the rancho, 

59 



Some By- Ways of California 

which is laid out along its path. During the last 
few minutes of the drive, one has in view a cross, 
planted high on the top of a hill, and showing 
brightly white against the deep blue sky behind 
it. It is a plain wooden cross, one of a number 
which were put up years ago, as a sign to the weary 
wayfarer, when traveling was not what it is now, 
that he was on the right road; or, should 
he be so favored as to be permitted to enjoy the 
hospitality of the family at the rancho, (and every 
traveler in those early days was welcomed at mis- 
sion, rancho, or any other settlement that night might 
find him near), that here were rest and refreshment 
until the morning. " There they stood, summer 
and winter, rain and shine, solemn, outstretched 
arms; " this one near the road being a landmark to 
all journeying through the valley either by the 
railroad or driving. Another cross may be seen 
high up on the other side of the river. 

The graveyard of the Del Valle family lies a 
few rods beyond the little settlement, and, perched 
on the side of a gentle slope and with its square 
white vault in the centre of the enclosure, and the 
numerous little white fences surrounding the sepa- 
rate plots, it forms a prominent point in the view. 
This burial place is used by the Catholics in this part 
of the country, as there is none other near. In 
the mausoleum in the centre is the grave of Ig- 
nacio Del Valle, the son of Don Antonio. A large 

60 



The Home of Ramona 

white cross is over his tomb, on which is the follow- 
ing inscription: 

Ygnacio del Valle 

Muri6 el dia 30 Marzo 

1880 

a la 

EDAD 

71 

And a little more, below, too small to read from 
outside the enclosure. Presumably the grave of 
Don Antonio, the first of the family to come to 
Camulos, is here also, but it is not distinguishable 
from outside the locked gate of the fence surround- 
ing the graveyard. 

Crossing the railroad track for the third time 
since leaving Piru, the little station is passed, af- 
fording the traveler a sight of one of the chief 
products of the rancho in a multitude of boxes of 
oranges piled upon the platform, awaiting ship- 
ment. Just beyond, a few rods, the barns and 
out-buildings are passed, and then the house itself, 
built forty-five years ago, the home of the Del Valle 
family, is close at hand. 

To one unacquainted with the Spanish-Moor- 
ish style of architecture of Mexico and California, 
the first sight of the Camulos building is disappoint- 
ing: long rows of adobe walls, somewhat forbidding 
in their plain severity, with only windows and doors 

61 



Some By- Ways of California 

to relieve the blank white walls, forming three 
sides of a square. But one has only to pass 
through the entrance into the patio within to find 
an entire change. Here the three sides of the 
court are enclosed by the house, with its wide 
verandas; and here, in this enclosure, full of flow- 
ers and vines and a few trees, with a fountain in 
the centre, and on these verandas, as Mrs. Jack- 
son says, " the greater part of the family life went 
on in them. Nobody stayed inside the walls, except 
when it was necessary. All the kitchen work, ex- 
cept the actual cooking, was done here, in front 
of the kitchen doors and windows. Babies slept, 
were washed, sat in the dirt, and played on the 
veranda. The women said their prayers, took 

their naps, and wove their lace there 

The herdsmen and shepherds smoked there, loung- 
ed there, trained their dogs there; there the young 
made love, and the old dozed." Such it was, as 
told in the story, and such it is, to-day. One 
could not wish for a more delightful place to work 
in or to rest in; one could hardly imagine a pleas- 
anter spot than this. 

But Camulos offers an even more charming bit: 
the south veranda, running across the whole length 
of the house on the south side. Here is another 
garden, almost an enclosed patio, so close and dense 
are the orchards of orange and olive on all sides. 
Here are more plants, thickly sown and in full 

62 



The Home of Ramona 

bloom — roses, geraniums, lilies, cacti, vines, here, 
there and everywhere. A short distance from the 
house is the chapel, a quaint little room, fitted up 
with an altar and several figures of saints, which 
were brought from Spain for this little place of 
worship. Here is shown the very altar cloth with 
the neatly mended rent in the embroidery work, 
of which Mrs. Jackson made so reahstic a use in 
her novel. Here prayers are said every day by 
the household, and once a month a priest visits the 
rancho and holds service with mass. Close by 
the chapel, hanging in a wooden frame, are three 
bells, once belonging to Mission San Fernando 
and Mission San Buenaventura, and which are 
still used in the daily life of the rancho. South 
from the chapel, a little way, is a fountain, larger 
than the one in the patio, on the margin of which 
are a number of round, hollowed-out stones. 
These, with infinite care and patience, were made 
by the Indians, years, maybe centuries, ago, and 
were used for grinding their corn or acorns. Con- 
tinuing on from the fountain is a path through a 
grape arbor leading to the brook, so often men- 
tioned in the story; and a short way farther is the 
river. 

The south veranda " along the front was a de- 
lightsome place. It must have been eighty feet 
long, at least, for the doors of five large rooms 
opened on it. The two westernmost rooms had 

63 



Some By- Ways of California 

been added on, and made four steps higher than 
the others; which gave to that end of the veranda 
the look of a balcony, or loggia." Father Salvier- 
derra's room was at this raised end of the veranda; 
that of Ramona at the other end, but level with the 
rest of the house. 

Here, as well as on the veranda of the court, 
was, and is, lived much of the life of the family; 
and when one has such a lovely semi-tropic gar- 
den and view before his eyes as are here, it is no 
wonder that everybody should be attracted to this 
veranda commanding them. " Between the ve- 
randa and the river meadows, out on which it look- 
ed, all was garden, orange grove, and almond or- 
chard; the orange grove always green, never with- 
out snowy bloom or golden fruit; the garden never 
without flowers, summer or winter; and the al- 
mond orchard, in early spring, a fluttering canopy 
of pink and white petals, which, seen from the 
hills on the opposite side of the river, looked as 
if rosy sunrise clouds had fallen, and become tan- 
gled in the tree-tops. On either hand stretched 
away other orchards, — peach, apricot, pear, apple, 
pomegranate; and beyond these, vineyards. Noth- 
ing was to be seen but verdure or bloom or fruit, 
at whatever time of year you sat on the Sefiora's 
south veranda." Here, where roses and all flow- 
ering plants grow with the rank luxuriance of 
weeds, where the air is full of the odor of lilies 

64 



The Home of Ramona 

and geraniums, and the orange blossoms of the 
orchards surrounding the garden, where every- 
thing is bathed in the warm glowing sunshine, Ufe 
takes on a new meaning. Here, where there is 
scarcely a day in the year's round that one cannot 
be out of doors with comfort — in the sunshine, 
if the weather be cool; in the shade of the verandas 
or under the trees during the hot hours of mid- 
summer — Nature once more asserts her sway over 
us, and wins us back, making us discontented and 
ashamed of the artificial life of society at large. 
A peaceful, happy life is that led at such a place as 
Camulos; a Hfe which is reflected with most per- 
fect truth in the story of Ramona. 

Ramona, Mrs. Jackson's greatest and best known 
work, was the fruit of her interest in, and labors 
for, the California Indians. Appointed one of the 
two members of the Indian commission to report 
on the condition of the mission Indians, she visited 
the various reservations and Indian villages, and 
learned their present condition, their treatment by 
the Government agents, the wrongs, past and pres- 
ent, suffered by them at the hands of settlers, by 
whom, in many instances, they were robbed of 
their lands, and forced to migrate to far distant 
spots, rugged and barren in great part, and which, 
consequently, appealed but little to the invading 
Americans. 

The result of this investigation by Mrs. Jack- 

6s 



Some By-Ways of California 

son and her colleague, Mr. Abbott Kinney, are 
embodied in their report dated Colorado Springs, 
July 13, 1883, and which has been published, as 
an appendix, to Mrs. Jackson's Century of Dishonor. 

While in Los Angeles, Mrs. Jackson was the 
guest of Don Antonio F. Coronel, a prominent 
public man and official (having been elected mayor 
of Los Angeles in 1853 and state treasurer in 
1867) during the latter days of Spanish California, 
and its early years under American rule. The 
story of Ramona was, at the time of her visit, tak- 
ing up Mrs. Jackson's thoughts, and, charmed with 
the quiet beauty of the home of the Coronel family, 
she expressed a wish to make it the background to 
her tale. Senor Coronel's wife, thereupon, told 
her of the Camulos rancho, saying it was the only 
hacienda in the country that remained true to the 
old life of Spanish times. There, she said, she 
w^ould find the customs of the early days when 
California was still a pastoral and mission country, 
before the advent of the Americans overturned the 
old regime. There, were to be seen the making 
of olive oil, the manufacturing of Spanish wine, 
the sheep shearing by the Indians. 

Attracted by Doiia Mariana's account of the 
rancho, Mrs. Jackson, furnished with letters of in- 
troduction to Sefiora del Valle, the owner, made a 
visit to Camulos. The Sefiora was away at the 
time, but Mrs. Jackson was shown all due courtesy 

66 



The Home of Ramona 

by the other members of the family, and with true 
Spanish kindness, was taken through, and shown 
in detail, the entire house and grounds. Nothing 
escaped her eye, and as she was here only two 
hours, her rare memory for detail displayed in 
Ramona, is little short of marvelous. The torn 
altar cloth is the best known and oftenest cited in- 
stance; but the Indian hollowed-out stones which 
the Senora used for flower-pots hanging from the 
veranda roof; the descriptions of life on the veran- 
das of the patio; the preparations for dinner the 
night of Father Salvierderra's arrival; the deft 
touches, here and there and everywhere, are no less 
noteworthy of Mrs. Jackson's faculty of accurate 
observation and remembrance. 

It is needless to say Mrs. Jackson was delighted 
with the place, and that she determined to make 
it the principal scene of her story. This she did, 
although never once making use of the name, 
Camulos; and during the ensuing months in New 
York City, busy with the writing of Ramona, her 
thoughts were much with the friends she had made 
during her stay in California, and with the beauti- 
ful home life of by-gone Spanish days she had 
witnessed at Camulos. While every visitor to 
California hears about Camulos as the early home 
of Ramona (although it is not once mentioned by 
name in the story), the general reader learns of it 
only through an account of a traveler's visit to 

6? 



Some By- Ways of California 

the ranchOy which is usually added to, as a sort of 
appendix, and bound up with, the story itself. It 
is an interesting little article, confirmatory of Mrs. 
Jackson's fidelity to realism in her exact descrip- 
tions of the rancJto itself and the life led there. 

Ramona achieved an instant success, and has 
maintained its place as the novel of Southern Cal- 
ifornia to this day. Of course, on its appearance 
it was hailed as " The Great American Novel," like 
so many other works since, but it cannot lay claim 
to be that; for fine as it is as a story and as an ar- 
tistic literary work, the representative American 
novel must be based on broader grounds than a 
story of such a confined section of our country as 
Southern California can give us. But when the 
American novel comes to be written, it is doubtful 
whether it will surpass in truth to the actual life 
depicted, or in the artistic and dramatic qualities 
shown by the author in her telling of this story. 

Mrs. Jackson displayed remarkable insight into 
the character and racial traits of the several per- 
sonages of her tale. The first and foremost prop- 
erty of the book is the picture of Spanish life as it 
was led in California fifty years ago, thirty years 
before Mrs. Jackson studied it. At the time of her 
visit, the Camulos house was about twenty-five 
years old, and the life, as led there, and conforming 
to the early Spanish California life, well established. 
The three principal Spanish characters — Ramona, 



The Home of Ramona 

Felipe and Sefiora Moreno — stand out, each in his 
or her own peculiar individuahty, strongly and dis- 
tinctly, as living beings, possessing all the at- 
tributes of human kind, but, what is more notice- 
able, with the true Spanish hereditary character. 
It is doubtful whether a Spanish or Mexican author 
of equal rank with " H. H." could have surpassed 
her in depicting his own countrymen. Ramona 
and Alessandro are the chief personages of the 
story, but the portrayal of Ramona is inferior to 
that of the Sefiora. The latter is the real heroine, 
and is limned with a master hand. The elements 
of strength and weakness alternating in her charac- 
ter, and shown in her daily Hfe, are consummately 
brought before the reader, and make of her a fas- 
cinating portrait. 

Ramona, " the blessed child," as Father Salvier- 
derra and the nuns at the convent used to call her, 
is a lovely heroine, half Indian, half Scotch (by 
birth — her father having been a Scotsman; but 
from her lifelong environment, she acquires the 
Spanish temperamental attributes) with traits be- 
longing to both the Indian and the Spaniard; but 
she is less well defined as an indigenous type — 
partly, perhaps, because she is neither fully of the 
Indian race nor, by blood, at all a Spaniard; part- 
ly because she is merely a loving and lovable 
young woman — than is the Seiiora. Her life at 
Camulos was a long succession of happy, sunny 

69 



Some By- Ways of California 

days, the best sort of preparation for her later ex- 
periences, hard and bitter as many of them were; 
but through all of which she showed the effect of 
her early training received from the nuns, sup- 
plemented by the loving oversight of her spiritual 
advisor, Father Salvierderra. Such love for, and 
devotion to, Alessandro as Ramona showed and 
felt — pure, true, disinterested — make of her a 
heroine the Hke of whom we have too few in these 
days of all kinds of purpose and problem novels, 
good, bad and indifferent, but principally bad. 

Felipe acts chiefly as a foil to Alessandro, in 
one way, to his mother, the Sefiora, in another. He 
is so unlike either the one or the other that he 
acquires the larger portion of the reader's interest 
in him for that very reason. He is less typically 
Spanish than his mother, but he is placed at a dis- 
advantage, first, from his illness, subsequently, after 
Ramona has left Camulos with Alessandro, to whom 
she becomes all in all, when he falls somewhat into 
the background. But Felipe redeems himself from 
whatever weakness he may have shown earlier in 
the story by his long, heart-sickening search for 
Ramona, and his tender devotion to her after she 
is found. Yet Felipe has those traits of the softer, 
more kindly side of the Spanish character, which 
make of him a true impersonation of the typical 
early Californian. 

The Indian Alessandro — on whose account the 



70 



The Home of Ramona 

story was written, and around whom it revolves — 
is in total contrast to the other principal characters. 
And in Alessandro Mrs. Jackson gives full rein to 
her indignation at the wrong done the Indians of 
Southern California; and shows to the reader, in 
the guise of story, what was the truth in many 
places at the time when Spanish California became 
American, and, as is usual in such changes, the 
poor suffered the most. In this case it was the In- 
dians, and the story of Temecula, its seizure by the 
American settlers, and the driving away of its 
original — its rightful — owners, the Indians, as told 
in Ramona, is almost literally true. 

However prejudiced against the Indians the 
reader may be, however strongly he may believe 
that " the only good Indian is a dead Indian," he 
cannot read the story of Alessandro and his wrongs, 
knowing that it is taken from actual verity, with- 
out becoming convinced, spite of himself, that there 
is some good in an Indian, even while he is alive. 
And if his indignation at the wrong inflicted on the 
Indians be not aroused by the reading of this tale, 
he is callous indeed. Alessandro has all the at- 
tributes of the Indian nature, untainted by the low- 
er traits of the civilised man, which are so fre- 
quently imposed on the aborigine when the two 
races come into contact. But in addition to the 
natural Indian character, Alessandro had had the 
benefit of the limited education that was to be ac- 



n 



Some By- Ways of California 

quired at the missions in their palmy days. This 
was small at the best, but, such as it was, Alessan- 
dro had made the most of his opportunities, handi- 
capped, as he was, by his hereditary Indian nature. 
And the result of the mission system, as illustrated 
by this particular specimen, shows what the fathers 
could, and did, do, when they had the best Indian 
material to work upon. 

But however greatly Ramona may be praised, 
however highly the story may be ranked as an ar- 
tistic work, one must not permit himself to be 
blinded to the fact that, as a strictly true picture 
of the character of the mission Indian of Southern 
California, it is overdrawn and exaggerated. Not 
that there were not Indians at the various mis- 
sions civilised, tamed and Christianised by the lov- 
ing, faithful care of the fathers, who were the 
equal of Alessandro in true, manly character. That 
this was so is not to be gainsaid. But the reader 
of Ramona gets the impression that this product 
was quite the usual result; that the Alessandros to 
be found among the Indians were so common 
as to be the rule. This is far from the truth. 
Alessandro was so rare an exception to the general 
run of mission Indian, even those deriving the 
greatest benefit from their religious training, that 
probably not more than one or two Indians, who 
were Alessandro's equal, could have been found 
at any of the missions at any time during the 

72 



The Home of Ramona 

period of their greatest influence for good. Yet, 
notwithstanding this, the general result of the re- 
ligious teaching of the whole number of the In- 
dians was high and greatly satisfactory to the 
fathers; so that, though there were very few 
Alessandros evolved from the mission system, 
nearly every Indian was lifted to a far higher and 
better plane of life than that of the untutored 
aborigine. 

Another criticism of the story may be made, 
this time on the side of its artistic quality alone. 
The life in Southern California of those days, when 
the country was still unchanged by the advent of 
the Americans, is so beautifully set forth before the 
reader; and the two elements — Spanish and Indian 
— alike in many respects, so finely molded and 
blended into one harmonious tale that the result 
is perfect. But as soon as a new element is in- 
troduced — the American — there is felt a discor- 
dance which is very pronounced. Mrs. Hartsel 
and the Hyers are not in themselves unworthy per- 
sonages: Aunt Ri, particularly, with her quaint, 
original remarks, gains the affection of the reader 
in no small degree; but they do not mingle well 
with the other elements of the story. The transi- 
tion from one to the other is too violent to be 
quite satisfying, and one can hardly help wishing 
that Mrs. Jackson had written the latter part of 
the book without their help. It is true enough — 

23 



Some By-Ways of California 

this queer mingling of Spanish, Indian and Ameri- 
can — to the actual life of the time; but the story 
might have been just as true, and, probably, much 
more satisfactory, had it been confined to the Span- 
ish and aboriginal elements. Mrs. Jackson, no 
doubt, felt that, as a sermon, the story gained by 
the introduction of the Americans; but it injures 
the story, as a story. 

Mrs. Jackson was not invariably correct in her 
Spanish proper names. Father Salvierderra's 
name should be Zalvidea, a name Mrs. Jackson, 
getting it by ear alone, changed into the form 
famiHar in the book. A more noticeable error 
is Alessandro's name. This is Italian: the correct 
Spanish form is Alejandro. The writer has seen 
it stated that Mrs. Jackson used the Italian, in- 
stead of the Spanish, form for the sake of the more 
euphonious sound. If this were her reason, the 
substitution of the foreign form was, on the whole, 
a wase one. It is easier of pronunciation to the 
untrained tongue. Everyone can pronounce 
Alessandro correctly, whether familiar with Italian 
or not; but Alejandro is sure to be mispronounced 
by all unacquainted with Spanish, and the mis- 
pronunciation of this name, with the Spanish pro- 
nounced as in English, would be most distressing. 
The letter / in Spanish has the sound of the Eng- 
lish h. 

However, these are minor defects and detract 



74 



The Home of Ramona 

but little from the tale as a work of art;. nothing 
at all as a picture of the times. Ramona is by far 
the best story of Southern California which has 
yet been written ; and whether or not it be in future 
surpassed or equaled, it will ever hold its own place 
in the hearts of all who love the country, as well 
as of those who love a pure, simple tale beautifully 
and sympathetically told. Reading it, one seems 
almost to live the life of those days; while the 
various places described in the story are brought 
before the reader who has visited them with almost 
startling vividness. Who would not have enjoyed 
that Hfe so close to Nature's heart? As Mrs. 
Jackson says: " It was a picturesque life, with more 
of sentiment and gayety in it, more also that was 
truly dramatic, more romance, than will ever be 
seen again on those sunny shores. The aroma of 
it all lingers there still; industries and inventions 
have not yet slain it; it will last out its century,— 
in fact, it can never be quite lost so long as there 
is left standing one such house as the Sefiora 
Moreno's." 

So lifelike and vivid are the characters in 
Ramona, so realistic and true to local color are Mrs. 
Jackson's descriptions of places and scenes in South- 
ern Cahfornia, that it is no wonder Alessandro 
and Ramona have been said, time and time again, 
to have been taken from real life. A dozen times 
have the real Alessandro and Ramona, the originals 

25 



Some By- Ways of California 

of those in the story, been found. If an old In- 
dian woman, answering to the name of Ramona 
(a common name among the Spanish and the mis- 
sion Indians) is found by some indefatigable ex- 
plorer in an out-of-the-way Indian village, 
or on some lonely, deserted, rancho, the 
rumor at once goes the rounds that the 
genuine Ramona of the tale has been discovered. 
Less than two years ago, she was unearthed away 
back of Pala, an old squaw, almost too aged and 
feeble to move. Her name happened to be 
Ramona — that was all there was to it. It should 
be superfluous to say that all the characters, 
Ramona herself included, are entire fabrications of 
the author's brain. Mrs. Jackson had no one in 
mind serving as a model for any of the personages 
in her book. 
May, 1900. 



Lompoc and Purisima 

THERE are two reasons why comparatively 
few persons visit Lompoc; partly, because 
it is off the beaten track of travel, and, 
until the past summer, (1899) to be reach- 
ed only by stage; partly, because, with one excep- 
tion, there is nothing of particular interest to be 
found here, and this one exception, Mission La 
Purisima Concepcion, is of rather minor interest 
to the average tourist, after having seen much more 
important and beautiful missions, w^hich are, at the 
same time, fortunately, more accessible. But 
Lompoc is worthy a visit from one having the time 
to spare, for the sake of the stage ride alone from 
Santa Barbara: it is one of the finest drives in the 
state, more beautiful than grand, although the lat- 
ter element is not lacking. 

There are two ways by which one can reach 
Lompoc: from the south by stage from Santa Bar- 
bara, a ride of sixt}^-two miles, along the coast 
for the first half of the way, thence through the 
Gaviota Pass; and by rail from San Luis Obispo, 
from the north. Until this past summer there was 
a gap in the railroad, on the trip north, of ten 

17 



Some By-Ways of California 

miles from Lompoc to Surf, which was necessary^ 
to cover by stage; but the railroad has now been 
finished to the former point. This railroad, the 
coast division of the Southern Pacific, is being 
rapidly extended to Santa Barbara, which will 
then do away with the stage ride, but a year or 
more will be required to complete this part of the 
road.* 

A third reason why so few make the trip to 
Lompoc might be found in the fact that there are 
two ways, both by stage, by which one can go 
from Santa Barbara to San Luis Obispo: one, the 
way already mentioned, through the Gaviota Pass 
to Lompoc; the other, through the San Marcos 
Pass to Los Olivos, thence by rail to San Luis 
Obispo. This latter is far the more popular of 
the two, and at times during the year, the travel 
by this way is limited only by the seating capacity 
of the stages run. As this route is more direct, 
therefore shorter, and the mountain scenery 
through the pass grander, although less varied, 
(for it is too far inland to have the ocean in sight, 
save only in the distance) it can readily be seen 
why it should be more traveled than the other. 
The stage ride this way to San Luis Obispo is only 
forty-five miles, as compared with sixty-two by 
the other route via Lompoc — an item of no small 
weight with people to whom stage-riding, in these 

*The road was finished and open to travel in the spring of 
1901. 

78 



Lompoc and Purisima 

degenerate days of railroading, is to be avoided 
wherever possible. And, in truth, the ride to Lom- 
poc is not the most comfortable one in the world, 
good, for the most part, as are the roads, and easy 
riding the stages. 

The day my brother, F — and I left Santa 
Barbara for Lompoc was in the latter part of 
August. The morning, bright, warm and calm, 
was an ideal one for a ride through the country, 
and we took our places with great anticipations 
of the pleasure before us. The stage was sched- 
uled to leave at seven, and it did get away from 
the hotel only twenty minutes after that hour. 
We two and a third were the only passengers to 
go through to Lompoc in a stage that would seat 
ten; but we picked up one traveler at Naples, 
some miles out from Santa Barbara, who went 
with us as far as Gaviota. Yet, in spite of the 
few passengers, the amount of business done by 
this stage line is not small; there was a fair amount 
of freight taken, and, in addition, the mail is carried 
to and from the various little towns passed 
en route. 

What a beautiful day that was, a true Southern 
Californian day! How easy it is, in a country like 
this, in this charming, seductive land, to transport 
oneself in thought to the old days, past and gone 
forever, but whose impression and influence re- 
main! The witcherv of Southern CaHfornia has 



79 



Some By- Ways of California 

never been explained, probably because it is, even 
to those most under its sway, unexplainable satis- 
factorily. It is due, in some measure, to the 
climate, the soft, mild weather, whether of sum- 
mer or winter, it makes no difference — it is only a 
matter of a few degrees; in some measure, to the 
scenery, the landscape so beautifully blended of 
sea and mountain and valley, all clothed with the 
mantle of exquisite color which here is so large a 
part of everything; in some measure, to the re- 
mains of a former life led here, a century ago, and 
which has left its footprints in nearly every part 
of the southern half of the state. To the writer, 
this — the romance of the Spanish days — forms a 
large part of the attraction of the land. Every- 
one feels, however unknowingly, this ineffable in- 
fluence, for it is not to be withstood by the most 
hardened and prosaic mortal. It is a heritage 
from the past which all cherish, unconsciously 
though it may be. 

For the first thirty-six miles, the road leads off 
to the northwest. At first, we skirted along the 
Santa Ines Mountains, which were on our right 
for many miles. One never tires from looking 
at this range of hills; so beautiful in outline are 
they, so entrancing in their color every hour of the 
(lay, so artistic in their arrangement and disposition. 
But the color and light and shade playing con- 
stantly over these hills are their chief charm, one 

80 



Lompoc and Purisima. 

that is irresistible. Many visitors to California, 
coming from the east, are disappointed in the 
landscape they find here on the coast: contrasting 
the hills and dales they have left, covered with 
trees or verdure of some kind, all of a more or less 
uniform green color, with the bare ground, the 
mountains comparatively destitute of forest growth, 
and the great want of the green color so refreshing 
to their eyes, they find themselves out of harmony 
with the scene, and call it barren and desolate. 
Barren, in their sense, it may be; but one who 
has learned to see the variations of color, ever 
changing, ever lovely, warm, soft, flushing yellows, 
pinks, reds, browns, relieved by the cool blues and 
greys of the shadows; to detect and note the 
changes of atmospheric perspective, that, ev^ry 
moment, take place, culminating, toward night- 
fall, with the most wondrous glow and fire, bor- 
rowed from the setting sun — how can one watch a 
scene like this through the cycle of a day and re- 
gret the absence of verdure? Yet there is, nearly 
always, enough green in every landscape to relieve 
the warm color by its grateful coolness. The 
writer has never felt this lack, which is spoken 
of by many. 

The road passes along through country given 
up to small ranches of fruit and grain, each with 
its little peaceful home embowered in it; farther 
on, as the city is left behind, the land becomes 

8i 



Some By- Ways of California 

more open, and is made up of large grain farms 
extending quite to the coast, a mile or more on the 
left hand, to the mountains, still on the right. 
Goleta was our first stop, eight miles from Santa 
Barbara. It seems hardly more than a name, 
(although there are about eight hundred people 
in the settlement), only a house or two, besides 
the store which contains the postoffice. We left 
a mail bag and again sped on our way. Some 
miles beyond we came to the coast, and then, for 
nearly twenty miles, we had the water almost con- 
stantly in sight. 

This twenty miles portion is the finest part of 
the whole trip, for with the water — a blue, shim- 
mering mass, paling, where the sun shines on it, 
to a dazzling white, and deepening, under cloud, 
to an intense purple grey — on one hand, and the 
mountains, running off in the distance to a low 
line of hills, on the other, there is a picture of 
beauty unfolded at every step that few spots can 
surpass. In early morning there is usually some 
fog slowly drifting away over the water, and when 
this is the case there is little or no air stirring, 
so that the water is as quiet and smooth as a mill- 
pond. This, with the light blue color, makes it 
resemble a lake. Indeed, the Pacific, on this coast, 
seldom has the look of the ocean; neither has the 
air the pungent salt fragrance in as great strength 
as has that of the Atlantic, and this increases its 

S2 



Lompoc and Purisima 

likeness to a lake. The road winds along the shore, 
sometimes a few hundred feet from the water, af- 
fording glimpses only of the distant horizon ; some- 
times right on the edge of the mesa, fifty feet or 
more above the beach, when a grand stretch of the 
coast, terminating in a headland jutting out into 
the ocean, may be seen; sometimes, in a great loop, 
skirting the edge of a ravine running down to the 
wave-lapped sands. This is no '* rockbound 
coast " here ; it is mesa, ending in steep rounded 
hills where it reaches out into the water, the whole 
covered with earth that gives life to grain in im- 
mense stretches, or, where uncultivated, carpeted, 
in spring, with a host of wild flowers of all colors. 
There are few parts of the Southern California 
coast which are rocky. 

And this is the kind of scenery we had that day 
until we reached Gaviota, a little after one o'clock. 
A few miles beyond Goleta we stopped at Naples, 
where we changed horses, left the mail, and took 
up our other passenger. Naples is much the 
same as Goleta in size, judging from the postoffice, 
W'here we stopped, and which should be the centre 
of the village. Just after leaving Naples we came 
out on to the edge of the mesa. Our next stop 
was Quemada; then Arroyo Honda, the stopping 
place for dinner, where we changed horses again, 
and, this time, our driver as well. 

Dinner was served in one of the two houses of 

83 



Some By- Ways of California 

the resting place, and the announcement of " half 
an hour for dinner " was a welcome one to us, 
with appetites whetted by the sea air and the brisk 
drive of thirty miles. After our meal, and a little 
walk to stretch our legs, we took our places in the 
stage again, and started ofif at a fine pace with six 
fresh horses and a new driver — the one who had 
brought the stage down from Lompoc that morn- 
ing, and which drew up at the stopping place not 
five minutes after we had reached there. Our first 
driver, a middle-aged man, was quiet, very quiet 
for a stage driver; and never once did a single 
strong expression escape his lips, something one 
associates with a stage driver as a matter of course. 
It was a subject of some anxious speculation with 
us passengers. Our second driver, however, a 
much younger man, soon relieved the tension: wc 
had not gone more than a mile or so when he 
added emphasis to his command to the horses by 
a somewhat highly colored word. " There," F — 
exclaimed, " I feel safer now I have heard the driver 
swear! " But I must do him the justice to say that 
that one time was the only time he indulged during 
the rest of the drive. He may have heard F — 's re- 
mark, although I doubt it. But the horses were 
fine, intelligent animals, and did not need the usual 
incentive to greater speed. 

For the first six miles after our afternoon start 
the way continued along the coast as before. We 



Lompoc and Purisima 

passed through Alcatraz, where are situated the 
asphalt works of that name ; then came to Gaviota, 
small, like the rest, but of some more importance, 
for it boasts a wharf where, every fourth day, a 
coast steamer from the north, as well as one from 
the south, touches. Here we said '' good bye " to 
the ocean, for our road, from this point, took a 
m.ore northerly direction, as it made its way among 
the hills through the Gaviota Pass. This pass, 
while not as grand as the San Marcos, to the east, 
is beautiful in its own way, and, in places, ap- 
proaches its more magnificent neighbor: it comes, 
too, as a contrast to the morning portion of the 
drive, which adds to its interest, sorry as one may 
be to leave the ocean behind out of sight. 

After leaving Gaviota, the road plunges in 
among the hills, which come closer and grow high- 
er and more precipitous as we advance. In some 
places there is a sheer wall above us of several 
liundred feet, on one side; on the other, the bed of 
a stream, full of rocks and boulders. There is 
much tree growth in the pass, live oaks predom- 
inating largely, some of them draped wnth 
Spanish moss; but there are many alders, syca- 
mores and cottonwoods. This lasts for miles and, 
but for the landscape, would be almost unbearable; 
for here, in the shadow of the hills on both sides, 
there is little air stirring, and the dust rises in 
thick, suffocating clouds. For two hours or more 

85 



Some By-Ways of California 

out of Santa Barbara we had been on the county 
road, which was kept well watered; beyond, to 
Gaviota, the sea breeze, which began to rise about 
ten o'clock, was just brisk enough to drive the dust 
away to one side; so that here, through the cmlon, 
we had our first taste of this bugbear of stage driv- 
ing. Fine as the scenery was, we all were glad to 
get out into the open country once more, where 
we could have a free breath now and then. Las 
Cruces, a little place like the others we had stopped 
at, was the last for changing horses; and from 
there the remainder of the trip to Lompoc, some 
eighteen or twenty miles, was up a long, gradual 
ascent over the hills, then a lively spin down the 
other side into the valley in which the town is 
situated. 

There is little of note until one reaches the sum- 
mit, when, soon after starting down on the other 
side, the road takes its way through the immense 
Hollister and San Julian cattle and grain ranchos: 
through the latter it passes for over ten miles — 
great fields of grain (or stubble, at this time of the 
year, for the grain had been harvested) stretching 
away on every side, with, here and there, a herd 
of cattle scattered over the ranges. The country 
here is quietly rolling hills, growing gradually low- 
er and wider apart as we approach Lompoc. 
Amongst the hills are many little wooded spots, 

86 



Lompoc and Purisima 

lending something of a park-like character to the 
general view. 

Crossing the San Julian rancho, which belongs 
to the Diblee estate of Santa Barbara, we stop at 
the house to water the horses and leave the mail, 
then off again for the last twelve miles of the drive. 
And this last twelve miles seemed never ending: 
what with the dust and the jolting which we oc- 
casionally received in spite of the good road, we 
were tired out with the long trip. Our driver had 
to make the town, in some seasonable time, any- 
way; so that, notwithstanding his skillful driving, 
he could not avoid, or slow up for, every little 
roughness or '* chuck hole " in the road. On 
turning a corner, we came out at last on Ocean 
Avenue, the main street of Lompoc, and saw the 
town spread out before us over the broad, level 
valley. After a half mile, we reached the centre, 
and drew up at the hotel, and there we descended, 
thankful to have ended our long ride, interesting 
as it had been. At the hotel every room was full, 
and it looked, for a few moments, as if we should 
be deprived of a night's rest, as the only other hotel 
was, likewise, overflowing. Finally, the proprie- 
tor's son, who was acting as clerk, offered us his 
room for the night, while he fared as best he could 
in the parlor, sleeping on the floor, he told us af- 
terward. The unusual influx of people was due to 
the railroad, now in course of construction from 

87 



Some By- Ways of California 

Lompoc south. The coming of the railroad has 
brought Hvely times to this place, and the inhab- 
itants are expecting great increase in prosperity 
and population because of it. 

The town of Lompoc was started in 1874. It 
grew out of the formation of the Lompoc Valley 
Company, a corporation given over to the develop- 
ment and cultivation of the two ranchos, Lompoc 
and Mision Vieja de la Purisima, together con- 
sisting of over forty-five thousand acres. It is a 
farming region, large ranchos of grain lying in all 
directions: this is the principal product, but some 
fruit is raised, as well as olives, potatoes and mus- 
tard in large quantities. The town was settled 
mostly by Scotsmen ; it is laid out with wide, shady 
streets, has broad sidewalks, (a few paved ones in 
the centre), a fine school building, several churches, 
and so on. It has a beautiful setting: the hills 
lying all around it, except toward the west, which 
is open to the water, ten miles distant. Lompoc 
started as a prohibition town: not a saloon was 
permitted, and nothing stronger than cofifee, I 
believe, w^as to be had for love or money. Some 
years after its beginning, a saloon was started, but 
it had a short life. One night a tremendous noise 
was heard, and the newly opened drinking place 
was found in ruins. The local paper, the 
next day, had an interesting account of the affair, 
although no official information of the cause nor 

88 



Lompoc and Purisima 

the names of the abettors of the explosion were 
given to the general pubhc. The paper intimated 
that it might have been the result of an earthquake 
or of a plot of Russian nihilists! At any rate, it 
proved conclusively that Lompoc was not a healthy 
place for saloons; and after that the virtuous peo- 
ple of the town were left in peace. Now, of course, 
as all good things in this life vanish sooner or 
later, it is different: there are saloons just as in 
other places, and Lompoc's claim to distinction in 
this respect is gone forever. The population is 
about twelve hundred. Lompoc is an Indian word, 
it having been the name of one of the Indian 
rancherias in the neighborhood during mission 
days. In pronouncing, both syllables have the o 
long. 

But the town itself is not the attraction of this 
region, nor is it the end one has in mind in taking 
this trip, interesting and beautiful as that is: the 
main and, in fact, the only claim, to interest Lom- 
poc can make, outside of the purely business or 
commercial one, is that this is the site of the old 
Franciscan mission. La Purisima Concepcion. I 
think the desire to see these relics of the past, 
provided one be really interested and in sympathy 
with their history and meaning, grows as one after 
another is visited: it is like collecting a set of rare 
books; you are not satisfied until you have acquired 
the last volume. So with these old missions — 

89 



Some By- Ways of California 

as the number of those you have seen grows, so 
does your wish to see all of them until you have 
accomplished the entire list of twenty-one, or what 
remains of the original twenty-one, for two or three 
have vanished utterly, leaving not a trace to show 
where they stood. Purisima was not one of the 
largest, or most important or beautiful of the mis- 
sions; but after having visited Missions Santa 
Barbara, San Luis Rey, Capistrano, Dolores, etc., 
one wants to see the less well-known Santa 
Ines, Soledad, Purisima, and the rest, and Purisima, 
as well as the others, well repays one for taking 
the trip to see it. 

After a good night's rest, F — and I started, 
early the next morning, on our drive to the mis- 
sion, five miles away. But before turning ofi on 
the road to New Purisima, we drove to what is 
left of Old Purisima, or Mision Vieja, as it used 
to be called: for the mission was founded, and be- 
gan its life here, about a half mile from the centre 
of the town of Lompoc ; being removed, after some 
years of struggle and disaster to the site of New 
Purisima, in 1813. Mision Vieja (for I like to 
use the old Spanish names: there is only one good 
excuse to be offered by those who 7vill replace 
the sweet, soft Spanish words by common, Eng- 
lish names, as devoid of any appropriate meaning 
as lacking in pleasant sound, which is, that the 
Spanish words and names are so miserably tor- 

90 



Lompoc and Purisima 

tured in the mouths of all who are ignorant of the 
language), Mision Vieja lies just out of the cen- 
tre, in the southern part of the town ; it stands on a 
slight rise of ground, but sufficient to afford one 
a fine view of the valley which it faces. Only two 
or three walls — bare, blank adobe walls, minus all 
inside or outside covering, and roof as well — are 
all that remain. From the little left, one can see 
that the buildings were small, but remembering 
that the mission was removed before the finest 
building era, one is impressed, rather, that they 
were not smaller. However, there is not enough 
left to cause us to linger long, and we soon took our 
way through the town and out, northward, through 
the country to New Purisima. 

The way runs along past farms of grain, and 
orchards of various kinds of deciduous fruits. 
About two miles out, the Santa Ines River is 
crossed, and then there are more grain fields and 
farm houses, until the mission is reached. New 
Purisima, like the Old, faces the valley with its 
back against the hills: hills are all about, and only 
in the distance do the real mountains show. Low 
trees grow in occasional clumps on the hills, but 
these are, for the most part, bare of anything more 
prominent than the wild grass or oats. All about 
the mission, the land is used for growing grain; 
which gives the familiar, although somewhat 
monotonous, yet always pleasing, yellow fore- 

91 



Some By- Ways of California 

ground setting to the buildings that is found at 
quite a number of the missions. 

There is only one long building, the church 
taking up about a half; and the whole much in 
ruins, although, with a little repairing, it would last 
many years. This ought to be done by the Land- 
marks Club of Los Angeles, or by some public- 
spirited citizen; for left alone, uncared for, it will, 
before long, succumb to the weather, as all adobe 
buildings do when neglected. The roof, of tiles, 
has fallen in at one end, and there are some breaks 
and holes in the remainder. The building has the 
usual cloistered walk along the front, but there 
are no arches; and this deprives it of the greater 
part of its mission character; for there is nothing 
to take the place of it — no fagade, no tower, not 
even a niche in the wall for a bell. So that, al- 
together, the mission looks very much like a large 
adobe, tiled-roofed, ordinary domestic house, such 
as may still be found in the state. It is disap- 
pointing; for there is nothing religious or eccle- 
siastical about it: in this respect inferior to Soledad, 
which is a sore ruin, and fast disappearing, but 
which has the mission character; for the church 
is distinct and noticeably apart from, though join- 
ed to, the other buildings. 

La Mision de la Purisima Concepcion was 
started December 8, 1787; but nothing was done at 
that time beyond the mere founding, and the place 

92 



Lompoc and Purisima 

was abandoned until the spring of the following 
year. In 1800, it had a population of nearly a 
thousand neophytes; no mean number in so short 
a time. But the mission suffered severely from 
earthquakes in '' cl afio de los tcmblorcs,'' 181 2, for 
the shock of the 21st December, of that year, de- 
stroyed the church, a number of the buildings, and 
one hundred adobe houses of the neophytes; and, 
later, farther damage was done by heavy rains, 
adding to the devastation already suffered. All 
this took place at Mision Vieja, and it was the 
reason for the change to the new site ; for the padres, 
apparently, thought it easier to start the mission 
anew, from the ground up, than to repair the build- 
ings so badly damaged. Bancroft, in his history 
of California, conveys the impression that all this 
was an excuse for the change, and that the padres 
had some ulterior reason for desiring it; but as 
he advances no other motive, we may feel safe in 
taking this one as the real reason; for, surely, the 
havoc wrought by this earthquake, which was felt 
from above Purisima to San Diego, ought to have 
been sufficient for the change. At any rate, the 
consent of the president of the missions was ob- 
tained, and the padres, let us hope, were happy. 

But Purisima was not at the end of her troubles. 
In 1824 occurred the famous Indian revolt — the 
worst in the entire history of the missions. 
Pu.risima was one of the five missions involved, and 



93 



Some By- Ways of California 

she fared hardly at the hands of the savages; for 
many of the buildings were badly damaged, in- 
cluding the church, and a new one had to be built 
to take its place; the one, probably, standing now. 
With these exceptions, however, Purisima led a 
life of uniform progress and prosperity; dying at 
last, with the rest of the missions, from the blow 
of secularisation, in 1834. 

Such a quiet, happy, pastoral life that was in 
the days gone by! Who would not like to have 
tasted of it for a brief time, that simple life, close 
to Nature, tempered and colored and beautified by 
the all-enveloping religious atmosphere radiating 
from the missions? I fancy there are many who, 
after a taste, would be glad to continue; for there 
could be found all the elements of a happy life on 
earth. Quiet it was, I confess; some might prefer 
death itself to such a life ; but others — and they are 
not few — are tired unto death now with our busy, 
incessant, nerve-torturing life of the town and city, 
with all its noise and drive and hurry. And for 
what good? Because we have railroads and elec- 
tric lights, and all the other things we have invent- 
ed to annihilate space and time and darkness; be- 
cause we have books and papers, and music and 
pictures, and fashions, and all the other things we 
have come to consider necessary to a contented 
life, are we one whit better off, or happier, or holier 
for it all? Are we any more Christ-like than our 

94 



Lompoc and Purisima 

fathers were a hundred years ago? If we are — 
and I hope and beheve we are — it is, assuredly, 
not because we have so many material comforts 
and conveniences that our ancestors knew nothing 
of, but in spite of them ; and who knows how much 
better we might obey the Golden Rule if we had 
our time and thoughts not taken up so wholly 
with all these things. They are good in their way 
and place, but the trouble is, they have usurped 
so much of the life and attention of the present 
generation, that there is just that much less for other 
higher and better things. 

Such thoughts as these passed through my 
mind as I mused on the mission and the life of 
former days. The glamour of those times is still 
strong, and much of it may be mere glamour; since 
even in those days there was, of course — it could 
not be otherwise ; for it would not have been of this 
world, had it been otherwise — much that was pro- 
saic, depressing, even sordid; but there was, at the 
same time, more opportunity to rise above it, more 
help to be found to aid one in casting it away. 
It is good to visit a spot like this, for the " sermons 
in stones," that one may find here, are many. 

September, 1899. 



95 



Jolon. 

SOME time ago there was a gentleman of 
Boston who, for fourteen years, had had 
his home in the neighborhood of the Bun- 
ker Hill Monument, almost within its very 
shadow. One day he received a visit from a rela- 
tive, a gentleman, who had lived all his life in the 
far west, and had never before been in the east. 
It is unnecessary to state that the Boston man wish- 
ed to make every effort to entertain his relative and 
guest, and he asked him at the beginning of his 
visit if he had any places particularly in mind which 
he would like to see. " The first thing I want to 
do is to visit Bunker Hill Monument, and *>o up 
to the top. But I shall not have you go with me, 
for, of* course, it is an old story to you now; you 
must have been up it so many times." Somewliat 
shamefacedly, his host answered: '' I have never 
been up the monument." '' What," exclaimed the 
western gentleman, " you have lived fourteen years 
right at its foot, and have never made the ascent! 
Why, it has been one of the desires of my life to 
see that monument, and now I am here I would 
not miss it for any amount of money. Well! 

96 



Jolon 

That comes from living near an object of interest. 
Because you are close by it, see it every day in the 
year and could, if you liked, have the view from the 
top at any and every hour of the day, you put it 
ofif and never go. So, after all, I think you would 
better come with me, and I will show you the 
sights of your own town." 

Is not this an epitome, frequently, of our attitude 
toward any place of interest lying in our vicinity, 
a place with which we have been acquainted for 
years, but which makes no stronger nor more di- 
rect appeal for closer acquaintance or knowledge? 
Just because it may always have been looked upon 
by us as an interesting spot to the visitor or stran- 
ger, and, much more, because, as the homely 
phrase goes, " familiarity breeds contempt," we 
fail to appreciate at its worth a building for its his- 
torical or antiquarian associations, or for its in- 
trinsic architectural beauty, or a fine landscape, full 
of color and perspective such as a painter loves 
and transfers.to his canvas. 

Just such a place is Jolon, or rather, it would 
be more correct to say, just such a country is that 
in the vicinity of Jolon ; for here may be found some 
surpassingly lovely scenes of high and low land, 
mountain and valley. But Jolon is a terra incognita 
to many Californians; and as for the tourist — the 
writer doubts whether one in a thousand so much 
as even hears of the place, to say nothing of visiting 

97 



Some By- Ways of California 

it Pala is but little more secluded, and Pala is 
simply unknown to travelers. 

At the present time King's City, the railroad 
point from which the stage for Jolon is taken, is 
not on the through line of travel between San 
Francisco and Los Angeles and the southern part 
of the state. This railroad, however, running south 
from San Francisco, through the Salinas Valley 
to San Jose and San Luis Obispo, is to become a 
part of the main line when it shall have been 
extended around the Santa Ines Mountains to 
Santa Barbara — a piece of engineering on which 
the Southern Pacific company are now bending all 
their energies. They promise to have this done 
by the first of next year, but as it was to have 
been finished two years ago, and as the limit of 
time has been extended again and again as neces- 
sity demanded, every one receives with doubt any 
report from the officials concerning the termina- 
tion of the work. Until that time King's City re- 
mains on a short line, consequently with less travel 
through the little town, and less opportunity for 
travelers to hear about the beauties of Jolon. 
However, the writer doubts much whether increas- 
ed travel through this part of the country will bring 
a larger number of visitors to Jolon. To tell the 
truth, he hopes it will not, for one of the chief 
charms of a place like Jolon is its comparative im- 
munity from the feverishly hurrying tourist. He 

98 



Jolon 

says comparative advisedly, for the camera fiend 
has already found out this spot, and has made 
spoils of its beauty in '' pressing the button." Hap- 
pily the presence of the tourist is still a some- 
what rare event — let us hope it will continue to 
be as rare for many years to come. 

The writer must here confess that it was with 
much misgiving he selected Jolon as a subject for 
an article in this little collection. But as his aim 
has been to attempt to describe some of the less 
well-known places in CaHfornia — those deserving 
the traveler's attention — he felt he could not con- 
scientiously omit Jolon. And, after all, this feeling 
of misgiving he has had in connection with nearly 
every one of the places mentioned in this book. 
He has been desirious of calling attention to places 
deserving notice; at the same time, he has had, 
in some degree, a feeling of guilt, as though he 
were betraying old, dear friends to the unsym- 
pathetic gaze of the world. His comfort must be 
that, in all probability, the great majority of trav- 
elers to California will never, never visit, never 
hear of, Jolon and Pala. 

King's City is one hundred and sixty-four miles 
south from San Francisco. It has no distinctive 
features; it is simply a Httle town, built up as a 
trading centre for the district round about. The 
view of country from the railroad station is not an 
altogether commonplace one; mountains border 

L.ofC. 99 



Some By- Ways of California 

the horizon to tlie west and south, and there is the 
rich Cahfornia color at every hour of the day, but 
the prospect does not seem to promise much in the 
way of something fine and beautiful to be found 
farther on. Yet such is the case, and the twenty 
mile stage-ride from the town to Jolon is filled with 
pretty views of mountain and carwn and low-lying 
land given up to grain and cattle. A mile or so 
from King's City, the Salinas River is crossed: in 
the summer and fall this stream is, of course, (Hke 
all streams in the southern half of the state) very 
low, but when the writer saw it in September, after 
three dry winters, there was not a drop of water 
in sight. Immense rolling beds of sand along the 
banks of the river showed plainly the great force 
of the wind when it is at its height; for the winds 
of the Salinas Valley are a synonym, far and wide, 
for all that is fierce and tempestuous. There is 
hardly a day, the whole year through, during the 
afternoon of which the wind fails to blow, and blow 
hard: invariably, sometime between eleven and one 
o'clock it begins, and in less than an hour it is a 
raging tornado, roaring through the trees and 
around buildings, and filling the air with blinding 
clouds of dust. Strange does it seem to have such 
winds with the deep blue of the unclouded sky: 
and this combination of fierce winds with clear sky 
and brilliant, unbroken sunlight has never lost 

100 



Jolon 

its power to affect the writer with a singular, al- 
most uncanny force. 

But the Salinas Valley and its winds occupy 
but a small place in geography, and they are soon 
left behind and forgotten as the stage rolls merrily 
along toward the hills it has to climb. In Sep- 
tember one does not find many travelers in any 
part of California, but even in winter, during the 
height of the tourist season, the days when the 
stage is filled with passengers are the exception. 
When F — and the writer made their pilgrimage 
to Jolon, they were the only passengers, although 
there was some express matter, and the daily mail, 
for this is a mail route. The driver— a Mexican 
from appearance and accent — was a pleasant young 
fellow, and chatted with us the whole distance, 
telling us everything about the country, its history, 
past and present, and enlivening the way so much 
that the twenty miles were passed over before we 
knew it. The road is fine, hard and smooth, over 
which the stage rolls lightly and easily. For some 
miles before reaching the summit of the pass over 
the mountains, it is necessary to walk the horses, 
but this is the only slow part of the trip. Through 
the caiion the way is narrow and tortuous: the 
hills on each side wall in the passage so closely 
that it seems as though no way could be found 
through; but each new turn gives a new view and 
farther on another opening pierced by the road, 

lOI 



Some By-Ways of California 

The hills, mantled with a thick covering of woody 
growth, appear purple dark in the late afternoon 
sunlight, and at sunset present a fine contrast 
to the golden yellow of the western sky. The hills 
are not high: the pass at the summit is only fifteen 
hundred feet above sea level, and the hills on either 
side are not many hundred feet higher; for they 
are hills and not mountains. Mountains can, how- 
ever, be seen in the distance, the Santa Lucia 
range stretching along the horizon far to the north- 
west. 

From the summit, the way follows an easy, 
gradual descent until the level country is reached, 
leading to Jolon. One is surprised to find so good 
a road in this thinly settled country, and, apparent- 
ly, so little used. This, it must be remembered, 
is a mail route, which will account in some meas- 
ure for its good condition. But the chief reason 
for this road (than which it would be difficult to 
find a better in the whole state) is, that it is, or 
rather was, the post-road between San Francisco 
and Los Angeles during the good old days of 
stage coaches, a quarter of a century ago. In 
those days, all travel between the two cities was 
by means of stages; and Jolon was a busy little 
spot then, being on the direct line of travel, and a 
stopping-place for supper and a change of horses, 
as well as a place of rest for those desiring to pass 
the night quietly in bed. 



Jolon. 

At last, after but little more than three hours' 
driving, Jolon is reached. Had not the driver 
warned us beforehand, we should, at first sight of 
it, have been inclined to rub our eyes and ask our- 
selves if we were awake. Jolon, so long the sub- 
ject of our thoughts, the Mecca of our journey, 
consists of two low, rambhng houses, resembling 
nothing so much as farm-houses, but each one is 
ambitiously dubbed a hotel — the Tidball Hotel and 
the Dutton Hotel. They stand right on the main 
road, about an eighth of a mile apart, each with 
its barns and the outhouses pertaining to farm life. 
At first glance there seems to be little choice be- 
tween the two, — both neat and clean enough from 
the outside, — but, had not we been told in advance 
that we should probably be better pleased with the 
Tidball Hotel, a mass of gaily flowering plants on 
the veranda would have prepossessed us in favor 
of that one. A farther sign in its favor — which, 
however, may be thought of rather factitious value 
— is, that in one end of this hotel is the postofifice, 
as well as a store where (as in all country stores) 
one can purchase anything from a paper of pins 
to a barrel of flour. 

This little hotel is the property of Mr. Tidball, 
an elderly man, who built it over twenty years ago. 
He and his wife are pleasant, genial people, and 
they take an interest in everyone stopping wHh 
them, be it for a long or short time. As there was 

103 



Some By- Ways of California 

not a single guest at the hotel when F — and the 
writer arrived there, JMrs. Tidball made us quite 
members of the family, doing everything she could 
think of to make our short stay of two days an 
agreeable one, and she certainly succeeded; for one 
of the pleasantest remembrances of our pleasant 
two days' trip to Jolon is connected with the Tid- 
ball Hotel. Such things go far to make a pleasure 
trip the more enjoyable; they are among the bright 
spots in one's recollections of his travels. 

Jolon has a population of between seven hun- 
dred and eight hundred: the main part of the little 
town is about a half mile from the centre, if we 
call the site of the postofftce the centre; and a post- 
office is usually, if not in the centre, at least very 
near to it. It is a farming country, grain, vege- 
tables and stock being produced and shipped from 
King's City north and south, principally to San 
Francisco. It lies southwest from King's City, 
and is about twenty miles from the ocean, from 
which it is separated by a range of hills. In for- 
mer days, Jolon was known as San Antonio. 
Later, the postolifice, which was at this place, was 
moved some miles nearer King's City, taking with 
it the old name. Still later, when this was once 
more made a postoffice, it was given the name 
of Jolon. This is an Indian word, spelled accord- 
ing to the Spanish pronunciation. The writer 
heard two meanings of the word: one, that it sig- 

104 



Jolon 

nifies a resting place; the other, a place where bul- 
rushes grow, that is, a place that one would be apt 
to select for a camping spot, as yielding water, 
which comes, after all, pretty near the first mean- 
ing. Who gave it the name, and whether it was 
derived from the old mission Indians, the writer 
was unable to learn. It is a pity to have the old 
Spanish names of places supplanted by others: the 
change is never for the better, and it breaks one 
more link of the chain connecting us with the old 
days; but in the case of Jolon, the new name — 
except for the fact that it is a new name, and not 
the original one — is quite as acceptable as the old 
one, and could not be improved. Jolon, Lompoc, 
are not they far more appropriate and satisfying 
than any English names that could be found in 
their stead? The earlier removed San Antonio 
seems to have disappeared from off the face of the 
earth: there is no postoffice now of that name in 
this vicinity. 

But the history of Jolon, or rather of San An- 
tonio, goes back many years before stage-coaching 
days, or the days of any kind of travel in this coun- 
try, except that which was done on foot or on 
horseback. Six miles from Jolon is Mission San 
Antonio de Padua, the third mission established 
by the Franciscans in Nueva California, under the 
lead of Junipero Serra. After founding Mission 
Dolores at Monterey, Serra and his band of earn- 

105 



Some By- Ways of California 

est, devoted men took up the long march to San 
Diego. On the way, Serra, his eyes ever open to 
future possibihties, on reaching this spot, decided 
to call into existence another mission to be devoted 
to the salvation of the aborigines, and without fur- 
ther preliminaries the mission was begun, on the 
14th July, 1771 Palou gives a most interesting, 
naive account of the founding, and of Father Ser- 
ra's enthusiasm, showing the simple, genuine faith 
of those times and those men. After speaking of 
their arrival at a large Canada, which they named 
Canada de los Robles, because it was thickly over- 
grown with oaks, Palou continues : " Everyone 
having agreed on the selection of the site for the 
establishment, the venerable father ordered the 
mules to be unloaded, and the bells to be hung in 
the branch of a tree, and as soon as they were 
ready to be rung, the servant of God began to 
strike them, crying aloud as though inspired: 
* Come, gentiles, come to the Holy Church and 
receive the faith of Jesus Christ ;' and Father 
Miguel Pieras, one of the missionaries designated 
for the mission, seeing this, said to him: ' Why do 
you tire yourself out; perchance this be not the 
spot where the church will be placed, neither in the 
whole neighborhood is there a single gentile.* 
' Let me, father, relieve my heart, wishing that this 

bell might be heard by the whole world 

or, at the least, by all the gentiles who 

106 



Jolon 

live among these mountains; " They then made 
an enramada, in which they placed the altar and 
celebrated mass, dedicating the mission to San An- 
tonio. At this mass, one sole native, having been 
attracted by the sound of the bells and by the '' sight 
of such strange people," was present. After mass, 
the missionaries made much of the native, treating 
him kindly and giving him presents, in order tliat 
he should tell others of his tribe, and thus induce 
them to come to the mission and place themselves 
under the benign rule of the padres. 

This was the beginning of Mission San Antonio. 
Tlie site selected, at the first, was upon the San An- 
tonio River, taking its name from the mission; but 
three years later, the mission was removed about 
three miles up the Canada, and some little distance 
from the river, and settled on the bank of Mission 
Creek, a small stream flowing into the San Antonio. 
The mission quickly became prosperous and in- 
creased rapidly in population: at the close of 1798 
there w^ere one thousand and seventy-six neophytes 
enrolled on the mission books, the largest mission 
in California at the time — and twelve hundred and 
ninety-six, its greatest population, in 1805. But, 
as time went on, the mission, of course, had to see 
such large numbers dwindle gradually away, from 
the want of new converts to be found among the 
Indians. This estabHshment seems to have hai 
exceptional good fortune in its work of converting 

10^ 



Some By- Ways of California 

the savages; so much so that, according to Ban- 
croft, after 1830 there were no Indians within a 
radius of seventy-five miles who were without the 
influence of the mission. This is a fine record, 
reflecting the greatest credit on the resident padres, 
who, to attain so enviable a position, must have 
been unusually capable, as well as gentle, pastors 
of their flock. Father Pieras and Father Sitjar, 
the founders and first missionaries, served together 
until 1794; and the latter (with an absence of only 
about a year, when he went to San Miguel to 
found that mission) continued until his death in 
1808, a pastorate of thirty-seven years. Think of 
the long, lonely years these padres — and others 
likewise at other missions — passed in this new wild 
land subduing and educating the savages! It 
must have seemed almost an eternity to them, the 
never-ending exile from their early homes, self-in- 
flicted though it might be, their only solace to be 
found in ceaseless thought and labor for their de- 
pendents. Such names as these of Pieras and Sit- 
jar should be writ large in the annals of those early 
days. 

But Mission San Antonio was not only success- 
ful in its benign influence on the Indians, its proper 
work: it had equal success in reaching the high 
position of becoming one among the group of the 
finest and most beautiful four missions in Nueva 
California. San Antonio, although a rich estab- 

108 



Jblon 

lishment, was not so rich in this world's goods as 
Santa Barbara, Capistrano and San Luis Rey, the 
Other three in this group; consequently its build- 
ings were smaller and less magnificent architec- 
turally; but in simple, absolute beauty of design, 
and arrangement of all the buildings comprising 
the central cluster around the church, it was not 
excelled, if, indeed, it was equaled, by the other 
missions farther south. Travelers of those days 
who visited this less accessible community were 
unanimous in their praise of this feature of San 
Antonio. Doubtless this, too, went far to mitigate 
the utter isolation the padres felt and suffered dur- 
ing the whole period of their expatriation. The 
church which is at present standing, still almost, 
but for the roof, intact, was begun about 1809 or 
1810; but it was long in building, not being com- 
pleted, so far as any record of it is known, before 
1820, making it the same age from completion as 
the church at Santa Barbara, although the build- 
ing of the latter required only four years. 

The Canada de los Robles is rightly named, 
but the name tells nothing of the exceeding beauty 
to be found here. Here, as in some other places 
in the state, the country greatly resembles that of 
an English park: the ground, clear for the most part 
of all undergrowth except the carpet of grass or, 
where under cultivation, either of grain in growth 
or, after harvest, of the remaining short stubble, 

109 



Some By- Ways of California 

is dotted, here and there, — now thickly and in 
grove-like masses, now thinly scattered or at wide 
intervals, — with great, irregular, picturesque oaks, 
some of them draped with Spanish moss, some with 
an occasional bright scarlet oak-apple among 
the sombre green branches, some standing grandly 
in their own native strength, not yet undermined 
by their parasitic enemies. The artistic arrange- 
ment of these trees, scattered over the land as Na- 
ture has planted them, is remarkable, and could 
not be improved by any handiwork of man. Fram- 
ing in this charming view, and adding the finishing 
touch, is the background of hills, running around 
half of the horizon. Beginning at the left, toward 
the east, they lie of¥ in the distance on the other 
side of the river, long, low masses of dark purple- 
blue and grey, flushed, here and there, by light, 
warm spots of pinky yellow, as the sun shines on 
their exposed surfaces. Gradually, as they reach 
the front and approach the right and southwest, 
they become higher and nearer; the blue grows 
deeper and more purple, with, here and there, an 
approach to green, where the trees and under- 
growth become dense on their sides. Just before 
reaching the extreme right, there is a break in the 
chain of hills, where they seem to draw apart to 
allow a glimpse between and beyond them: and 
here, far away, rising in its majesty up, up into the 
bright blue sky is the mighty mass of Santa Lucia 

no 



Jolon 

Mountain, the highest peak of the range of the 
same name, six thousand feet above the sea. Here, 
in all its beauty and splendor, pale, exquisite blue 
in the distance, and from the top almost to its 
very roots, is it revealed to us, glimpses, fragmen- 
tary and tantalising only, of which we had on the 
drive from King's City. Here is the culminating 
point in this picture of loveliness unrolled before 
our gaze. 

Here is the culminating point, and here is the 
very spot the padres selected for their mission, when 
they removed it from the river to the bank of Mis- 
sion Creek. As one approaches the mission from 
the road, it defines itself more and more as a dis- 
tinct element in the view : the hills again, as, earlier, 
they parted to allow us a glimpse of Mt. Santa 
Lucia, seem to distribute themselves on either side, 
as though realising that here, at least, they are sub- 
ordinate and must not obtrude. This brings Santa 
Lucia into view, directly behind the mission, and 
thus the two most prominent, most interesting, 
most beautiful objects in the landscape are brought 
together in one perfect whole: Mt. Santa Lucia — 
Nature's grandest creation for miles around; Mis- 
sion San Antonio — man's noblest, most artistic 
handiwork between Santa Barbara and Carmelo. 

So it was in the days of its perfectness, and so, 
indeed, it is still, although now time's hand and 
man's neglect have made of the mission a mere 



III 



Some By-Ways of California 

ruin of what once it was. Yet even now, in its 
silent, pathetic decay, it preserves a very good Hke- 
ness of what it was in earlier times. The church — 
always, of course, the principal building at the mis- 
sions — is still in fair preservation, so far as the 
front and the four walls are concerned; but the 
roof is almost entirely gone, rafters and tiles all 
fallen in, leaving the great building open to the 
sky. The fachada is built of, or faced with, burnt 
brick; and to this alone w^e owe it that it remains 
to-day with hardly a scar marking the passage of 
time. This is a precious legacy and, perhaps, the 
part of the mission we could least have spared; 
for it is dissimilar to that of any other mission in 
Nueva California, although it bears a family likeness 
to the campanario at Pala, the fachada at San Diego 
and, more distantly, that at Santa Ines. The 
church buildings, at all the missions, were built in 
either one of two styles, the one totally unlike the 
other. At some — usually the larger and richer 
missions — the principal and dominant architectural 
feature of the church was the tower surmounted by 
a dome — one tower, as at San Luis Rey and Ven- 
tura, which was of great size and looked strong 
enough to withstand a siege from an army, so 
fortress-like was it in its heavy breadth; or two, as 
at Santa Barbara, one at each end of the front of 
the church. At other missions — as at San Diego, 
San Gabriel, and this one at San Antonio — the tow- 



112 



Jolon 

er gave place to a simple front, rising, by curves 
and angles, above the centre to a point or arch. 
Sometimes this simple decorative fachada formed 
the front wall of the church; sometimes this wall 
adjoined the front or side of the church, and be- 
came then a campanario pure and simple. 

Here, we have an opening in the upper part of 
the fachada in which, presumably, there hung a 
bell; and on each side, at the corners of this front 
wall, in a buttress-like little turret, another opening 
unmistakably intended for a bell. But these braz- 
en voices of the mission are now no more: mission 
bells were, perhaps, (next to the roof tiles), the 
easiest thing to purloin, and we find none at any of 
the deserted missions. The remainder of the 
church, barring the roof, is still in fairly good con- 
dition; but now that the roof is so nearly gone, 
the church walls — unprotected and exposed to the 
rains of each recurring year — w411 soon begin to 
melt away, crumbling down to the ground, from 
which they were made, a heap of adobe scarcely 
distinguishable from the soil. Were the roof re- 
placed and kept in repair, the entire building would 
last another eighty or hundred years ; but who will 
do this worthy work? Where is the " Landmarks 
Club " of the north to follow the good example 
set by the club of that name in Los Angeles? Can- 
not San Francisco — a city three times the size of 
Los Angeles — raise money enough to rescue this 

113 



Some By- Ways of California 

mission from total destruction? If it ever be done, 
now is the time. To-day, the roof could be re- 
placed and the rest of the mission repaired and 
conserved for a few — probably three — thousand 
dollars. Ten years hence, five times that sum will 
not repair it, simply because there will be nothing, 
or, at most, very little, left to repair. 

Adjoining the church, we find the long cloister- 
ed building. The rows of pillars and arches, faced 
with burnt brick, are in good preservation; but the 
rooms of the building are badly ruined, the roof 
pierced with great holes and rapidly going the 
way of the church roof. The building forms one 
side of the square enclosing the patio; the church 
nearly the whole of another side. The rest is a 
mass of ruined walls, some having still a few rem- 
nants of tiled roof, but the larger number merely 
mounds of earth, each year bringing them more 
nearly to the level of the ground. In front are the 
remains of walls once enclosing a large square of 
twelve hundred feet on a side. Two or three white 
adobe, tiled-roofed little houses are still standing, 
and from these and the ruined walls a dim idea 
of the former extent of the mission may be gath- 
ered. 

San Fernando, Santa Ines, Pala, San Antonio — 
these are only a few of the missions which were 
built in exceptionally beautiful and commanding 
spots, although all were peculiarly favored in this 

114 



jolon 

respect. The four mentioned, however, are per- 
haps (at least the writer ranks them so) the ones 
to bear the- palm of greatest landscape beauty in 
their setting. For long, Pala held first place in 
the writer's mind, with San Fernando a close sec- 
ond; but San Antonio had not been seen then. 
Now, five years later, on visiting Jolon, San An- 
tonio has usurped the place which Pala once filled. 
The scenery, although, taken together, not so 
grand as that at Pala, is as lovely in arrangement 
and chiaroscuro, and more charming in color; 
while the ruined mission is far more interesting, 
as a picturesque object, than is the asistencia at Pala, 
quaint and curious as that be. 

This unerring taste — instinct it more properly 
might be called in the case of the Spanish — is one 
of the most striking things noted in connection 
with the missions. Not one (and the writer has 
seen all but three of the missions, or the sites they 
once occupied) fails in being placed on the most 
beautiful spot to be found in its vicinity for miles 
around. Whether standing boldly near the sea, 
nestled among the hills, embowered in a park-like 
valley, or built upon the shrubby bank of a stream — 
it was the same happy selection in the case of all: 
and it has become a well-understood saying among 
Californians that where a mission is there is the 
finest part of the country in that neighborhood. 
Not that the missions have made use of all of the 



115 



Some By- Ways of California 

most beautiful places in the ground covered by 
them, — it would take many times twenty-one mis- 
sions to occupy all of the most picturesque parts 
of the southern half of the state, — but that no other 
lovelier spots suitable for habitation and cultivation, 
than those occupied by the missions, can be found 
in the state is not to be denied. 

The padres, as said before, passed a lonely 
life in this almost uninhabited country, unin- 
habited, that is, by more than a very small number 
of people other than the aboriginal savages. In- 
cessant labor for the growth and prosperity of their 
missions, together with the innocent pleasure they 
must have taken in the striving to make the church 
and buildings as beautiful architecturally, and as 
much a part of their natural setting, as possible, 
went far to soften and assuage the poignant home- 
longing they could not fail to feel time and time 
again. But there was assuredly still another thing 
acting as a soothing and healing balm on their 
home-sick hearts — the environment of their es- 
tablishments, whether of sea or plain or, as here, 
of purple hill and rushing stream. Endowed, as 
the fathers must have been, with a great love for 
the beautiful in Nature, of whatever description, a 
scene like this at San Antonio, unrolled before their 
gaze from morn till eve, in bright sunshine and 
under cloudy grey, summer and winter, year after 
year, how it must have grown upon them, have 
become almost a part of their very being! So that, 

n6 



Jolon 

at last— though they would not have confessed 
such a thing, would not, probably, have been able 
to resolve it into distinct thought— they could less 
easily have suffered separation from the mission 
than that earlier separation from the home of 
their younger days. And to one visiting the mis- 
sion at the present time, as it stands, quiet and 
deserted, giving no hint of the busy, happy days 
three-quarters of a century ago, when the country 
for miles around throbbed with the hum of in- 
dustry and labor — to one visiting the mission now, 
there comes a peace, stilHng whatever questioning, 
whatever unrest or sorrow, or hurried turmoil of 
mind or heart there may be — stilling for a time 
only, perhaps; but leaving its trace, so that the 
influence for good bestowed by the mission will, 
perhaps, be felt in after days and in far distant 
lands. These places have not lost all power, even 
in their death; for to the thoughtful person they 
yet speak, clearly and with the assurance of ex- 
perience, telling him that there is another, other 
than the material, life, to be led in this world, and 
that he who shall give himself to this higher and 
better life, in however sHght a degree, by just so 
much will he experience in this world the glorified 
life of the hereafter. The missions are eloquent in 
their decay. Let us keep them with us so long as 
may be, for nothing can take their place. 
October, 1900. 

"7, 



San Juan Bautista 

WITH the exceptions of Monterey and 
Jolon, the missions north of San Luis 
Obispo are inferior in interest and im- 
portance, from an archaeological and 
pictorial point of view, to those found south of that 
dividing line. Mission buildings, like San Luis 
Rey, Capistrano and Santa Barbara, have not their 
counterparts in the northern part of the field of 
mission labor. This was due to several causes: 
partly, because the southern missions were, taken 
as a whole, earlier in existence, and thus had a 
longer life of growth and usefulness; partly, be- 
cause the Indians in that region were milder and 
less unruly, so leaving to the padres more time 
for the creation of their finest architectural works; 
and just because the Indians were more tractable, 
they afiforded the padres a greater number of labor- 
ers for the erection of the immense piles we find at 
some of the more southern missions. Mission San 
Juan Bautista is not an exception to this rule, al- 
though it is well preserved and still in use, as well 
as, at the same time, situated in a country full of 
historical interest. 

Notwithstanding San Juan Bautista is less than 

ii8 



San Juan Bautista 

four hours from San Francisco, and is most easily 
reached by rail and a short stage ride of but six 
miles, very few persons, either tourists or dwellers in 
the state, take the trouble to visit it. This is un- 
fortunate, for a stop of merely a day would well 
repay one for the slight expenditure in time and 
effort. And, certainly, one in sympathy with the 
early history of the state should not omit this 
place, either in regard to the mission or the town 
itself. 

Leaving the train at Sargent's, the stage is taken 
for the six miles' drive to San Juan Bautista. This 
stage ride is a distinctively unique feature of the 
trip. The country traversed has nothing singular 
to attract and hold the attention of the passers-by: 
it has all the prevailing characteristics of the coun- 
try in this part of the state; gently rolling hills 
opening out, here and there, into valleys which 
have been brought to a high state of cultivation; 
for this part of San Benito County is but a continua- 
tion of Santa Clara County, bordering it on the 
north, and which is considered to be the garden 
spot of California. The land is devoted to fruit 
and grain, chiefly the former, for which it is par- 
ticularly well adapted. 

But the unique feature of the ride is that afforded 
by the driver. Mark Reagan is one of the now 
small and rapidly vanishing class of stage drivers 
who were a power in the palmy days of stage driv- 

119 



Some By- Ways of California 

ing many years ago. Reagan was, in early times, 
a driver on the old overland route; he has run 
the stage between Sargent's and San Juan for over 
twenty years,* and in that time has stored up and re- 
membered a fund of historical and local informa- 
tion pertaining, not only to San Juan Bautista, but 
to San Benito County generally. This, it is his 
pride and pleasure to relate, with circumstantial 
minuteness, to any passenger who may show an in- 
terest in the early history of the country; and this it 
is which gives the ride from Sargent's its peculiar 
attraction. Histor)^, legend, antiquarian lore, gos- 
sip, it matters not under what head the traveler 
may wish enlightenment, Reagan is ready with the 
desired information, and imparts it gladly. 

San Juan Bautista is a small, quiet town, with a 
large proportion of Mexican inhabitants. Like 
nearly all California towns which are not situated on 
the railroad, it has not kept up in population and 
the general activity brought by that potent factor in 
modern life. Before the railroad was built through 
Sargent's, San Juan had a thriving population of 
some two thousand souls: then the railroad came 
to the neighboring town, with the inevitable re- 
sult of drawing away a large proportion of the 
community; so that the population dwindled, in 

■^Assuming that he is still at h!s post. The writer visited 
San Juan in 1895, at which time Mark had completed some seven- 
teen years of service. 

lao 



San Ju'an Bautista. 

later years, to as low a figure as five hundred and 
under. A good part of the loss sustained may not 
have been an unmixed evil; for the class of people 
attracted, in such cases, by the greater life and rush 
of a railroad town, are, usually, the class most easily 
spared, and it can hardly have been different in 
the case of San Juan. But the result apparent to 
the transient visitor is that of the calm, quiet life 
incident to an agricultural community; and San 
Juan dozes on during the long summers and mild 
winters of this state, with scarcely a thought more 
enlivening than that of crops and the market. 

The town is scattered over a large extent of terri- 
tory, necessitated by the immense farms in cultiva- 
tion; so that it hardly seems to be a town at all 
until one reaches the old plasa and draws up at 
the hotel facing it on one side. The plasa is the 
social centre of the town. On one side, taking 
up the whole length, are the church and the priest's 
dwelling; the hotel occupies part of another side; 
while a large building, in which is a hall, devoted 
to dances and other festive gatherings, is on a 
third, opposite the church. The fourth side is va- 
cant, a fence shutting off the outside land, which, 
at this point, slopes away for many miles. 

To become in sympathy with a place of interest, 
the traveler must have a comfortable inn where all 
creature wants may be found: otherwise the effort 
to derive pleasure and advantage from sight-seeing 

121 



Some By- Ways of California 

is too great for any but the most hardened. Tour- 
ists, nowadays, demand and expect the best of 
everything; and if it is not furnished them — " good 
bye" to the place so short-sighted in its poHcy; it 
is dead to the traveHng world. San Juan, how- 
ever, is not one of these : the hotel on the plasa is a 
pleasant, well-kept, comfortable establishment, and 
is patronised by the few San Francisco people who 
ever come to this place, either for a short stay, or 
to spend the summer months. It is a long, plain 
building, nearly a hundred years old, with a bal- 
cony the whole length of the front. Next door to 
the hotel, taking up the remainder of this side of 
the pla::a, is the old Spanish house of General Cas- 
tro, of the last Mexican and first American days 
of the province. The house is built in the simple 
style of the early days, a plain, two-storied front 
with overhanging balcony, the whole set back some 
feet from the street, affording room for grounds 
almost overrun with shrubbery and flowering 
plants of many kinds. It is a most interesting relic 
of Mexican days, and is kept carefully without 
change or alteration of any kind. 

Wandering about this old town, and viewing 
the buildings and historic reHcs of former times, 
one is transported back to the earlier life of Mex- 
ican days, when all — the people, customs, buildings, 
everything, not excepting the landscape itself — 
proclaimed that this was, indeed, a foreign land. 

122 



San Juan Bautista 

Three score years and ten, the span of a human 
life, is a very short time in the life of a country, 
although so much may occur during it; and that 
makes it so difficult to reaHse that only a mere 
seventy years ago this country was in its richest 
and most flourishing state under the flag of Spain. 
The missions were then at the height of their power 
and usefulness, having each its community of In- 
dian neophytes, numbering, in several instances, 
more than a thousand converts to Christianity ; the 
people — that is, the Spanish and Mexican pioneers 
to the country — were living their lives of happy 
welfare in their quiet land, content with each other 
and caring not for the ways of the outside world; 
the Indians, too, gathered at the missions, where 
they were taught Christianity and the arts of peace, 
came in for their share of the general happiness; 
for, though they were made to do as their mas- 
ters bade, and were, in reality, slaves in all but in 
name, they were, for the most part, treated kindly 
by the padres; and their condition, certainly, was 
far better than their earlier savage, brutish state. 

Those early days in California, the days when 
Spain was in control, and the padres practically 
ruled the land, have left their trace in many parts 
of the southern half of the state. Yet it is fast 
disappearing, and, although it will never be en- 
tirely obliterated, the remains of the former times 
are growing less unceasingly. This is to be regret- 

123 



Some By- Ways of California 

ted; but it cannot be entirely prevented, for ruined 
adobe buildings must, in course of time, succumb to 
the weather. Missions like Santa Barbara, San 
Luis Obispo and this one of San Juan Bautista, be- 
ing occupied and in continual use, are kept in repair, 
and may last a century or two longer before their 
day of usefulness be over; so that there will always 
be (so far as this generation is concerned, and the 
next as well) some spots where the past life — that 
quiet, pastoral, romantic life — may be conjured up 
by the imaginative being. 

But in this relentless modern life of the present 
day, sentiment has small place, and such things 
as adobe ruins — useless from the standpoint of the 
utilitarian — have frequently to make way for, so- 
called, modern progress. This has done away with 
a good deal that should have been preserved. 
However, a new and better sentiment toward the 
remains of former days of whatever kind has, with- 
in the past few years, been evoked, and now, all 
are alike eager in the safe-guarding of their treas- 
ures of the past. It is a cause for rejoicing for all 
who love the early history of the state that this is so. 

As in all mission towns, the mission here is the 
great feature of attraction. At first sight, it is a 
disappointment, for it has been much repaired and 
— the inevitable result — altered. This, together 
with v/hat was said at the beginning of this article, 
that the northern missions arc, as a rule, less im- 

124 



San Juan Bautista 

portant, historically, and less valuable, artistically, 
combine to relegate Mission San Juan Bautista to 
a minor place in the list of missions. Yet it has 
its individual valuable details, changed as it has 
been by the years and the hand of man. 

Only the church and the adjoining long build- 
ing remain of the original ecclesiastical settlement. 
The church is the more disappointing of the two: 
the walls are the old adohe walls; but the former 
tiled roof had to be removed in order to make re- 
pairs, and, for lack of funds, was not replaced, but 
a shingle roof put on instead, detracting, of course, 
greatly from the peculiar character of the building. 
A shingle roof does not seem appropriate, for one 
never learns to associate any other than a roof of 
tiles with these old Spanish buildings. In repair- 
ing the roof, the tiles were removed very carefully 
and stacked up by the side of the church, in antici- 
pation of the time when the parish could spare the 
money requisite to restore them to their proper 
place. But far worse than the shingle roof is the 
repairing the tower has undergone. This tower 
was badly injured during an earthquake which oc- 
curred in 1836, and was repaired by converting the 
adohe dome into a square, wooden tower, capped 
by a most prosaic, inappropriate, ugly spire of 
wood. Anything more incongruous than this tow- 
er and spire — reminding one most forcibly of the 
old-fashioned New England meeting house — sur- 

125 



Some By- Ways of California 

mounting an adobe church built in the combined 
Moorish and Christian style of architecture of old 
Spain, it would be impossible to find. This, how- 
ever, is said from the point of view of artistic good 
taste alone: the parish is a poor one, and, doubt- 
less, the expense of repairing the damage, done by 
the earthquake, in this manner, was much less than 
what would have been required to restore the orig- 
inal dome to a safe condition. 

Adjoining the church is the usual long, low 
building, containing the rooms of the resident 
father. It is graced, the whole length of the front, 
by the cloistered passage, which here — as at all the 
missions where this feature of building is present — 
by its round arches and square, massive pillars, 
lends great dignity to, as well as relieves the monot- 
ony of, the otherwise simple front. One learns, in 
time, to associate this long cloister of arches, unre- 
lieved by any moulding or other ornamentation, 
with these missions; it becomes, in a sense, a feature 
of church architecture : so that, when we find a mis- 
sion, as Purisima, for instance, with the covered 
walk, it is true, but having no arches, it is with a 
distinct sense of loss we view it. 

The interior of the church is simply, but pleas- 
ingly arranged and decorated. The main altar is 
brilliant with red, green and gold, but the remain- 
der is quite plain. The side walls are left as built, 
and are plain white, but the ceiling has been new- 

126 



San Juan Bautista 

ly decorated. Not more than half of the floor 
space is provided with seats; rather painful evi- 
dence of the present small size of the parish, con- 
trasting with the congregations that used to flock 
hither in days gone by. Very probably many of 
the congregation used to stand in the rear; but, 
at present, twice the number usually attending 
mass could be seated comfortably. In the chancel, 
marked by a stone slab, is the grave of Esteban 
Tapis, one of the early presidents of the Nueva 
California missions. 

Mission San Juan Bautista was founded June 
24, 1797, on the day of the titular saint, St. John 
the Baptist. On that day the site took its present 
name from the mission: it had previously been 
known among the settlers there as San Benito, the 
name of the present county. This mission was 
one of four that were founded in 1797, a year of 
great increase and prosperity of the mission sys- 
tem. Even here, in the north, where the missions 
never reached the wealth and population of those 
farther south, San Juan seems to have had good 
success at the start: Bancroft says eighty-five In- 
dians were baptised before the end of the year; 
while before the close of 1800, there were five hun- 
dred and sixteen neophytes. This was a fair show- 
ing, indeed, when we take into consideration the 
more violent disposition of the northern tribes man- 
ifested toward the fathers who were come to 



127 



Some By- Ways of California 

teach them a better Hfe; for during the years 1798- 
1800, Mission San Juan was made to suffer from 
the attacks and assaults of the natives. Ahhough 
no such dire catastrophe as that which occurred 
at San Diego, in its early days, is recorded as hav- 
ing taken place here, nevertheless the continued 
hostility of the Indians for three years could not 
fail to retard greatly San Juan's attaining the place 
she ultimately reached among the missions. 

But hostility from the Indians was not the only 
thing Mission San Juan had to bear. During the 
month of October, 1800, many earthquake shocks 
occurred in the vicinity of San Juan and 
caused much damage. These shocks took place 
from the eleventh to the thirty-first of the 
month, reaching their height on the eighteenth. 
Gaps appeared in the ground, and the adobe walls 
of the buildings were cracked from top to bot- 
tom, and were rendered very unsafe. The fath- 
ers were so alarmed that they dared not sleep 
inside, but passed the nights in the open air. This 
seems to have been the worst period of earthquake 
shocks the mission ever experienced; the earth- 
quakes occurring during the celebrated " afio de los 
temblor es" 181 2, apparently not reaching as far 
north as this. 

However, earthquakes were something all the 
missions had to suffer from more or less; that was 
one of the things to be expected, just as much as 

128 



San Juan Bautista. 

occasional dry years and consequent failure of har- 
vests. That loss of life did not result from the 
many earthquakes experienced during all the mis- 
sion period of history, should have been a cause of 
much thankfulness; that great shock at Capistrano 
in 1812 being, so far as we have learned, the sole 
exception. 

Perhaps it was on account of the damage done 
by these shocks, or it may have been because the 
church had become too small for the growing num- 
bers of the converted Indians, or, more probably 
on account of both reasons, that a new church was 
begun in 1803, and completed and dedicated in 
181 2. This is the church, repaired and altered al- 
most out of all the semblance to its former self, we 
find here to-day. It is 160x60 feet, built with the 
usual thick adobe walls, and massive buttresses. 

In 1823 the population of the mission reached 
its highest figure, twelve hundred and forty-eight 
souls. With the exception of San Luis Rey, it 
was the only one of the old estabHshments to show 
an increase during the decade of 1820-30. This 
was a good indication of its prosperity at this pe- 
riod; for San Luis Rey was a mission hardly to be 
reckoned with in such statistics : it was an anomaly 
always in its unexampled growth and wealth, as 
its greatest population was nearly double that of 
the next largest mission. 

Mission San Juan's most famous minister was 

129 



Some By-Ways of California 

Esteban Tapis. He was a native of Spain, and 
came to California in 1790. After serving at va- 
rious missions from San Carlos to Santa Barbara, 
and filling the office of president from 1803 to 1812, 
he came, when past the age of sixty, to San Juan, 
in 181 5. He was a kindly, genial man, loved by all 
with whom he came in contact. Probably he was 
a learned man; at any rate he must have had a 
natural taste for languages, for he was familiar with 
several of the native Indian tongues, of which he 
made use in teaching the boys to read and write. 
He passed the remainder of his life here, dying in 
1825, and was buried in the church. 

Nearly every mission had, at s'ome period, its 
own well-loved father, revered and venerated by 
all. That there were so many of this kind speaks 
volumes for the mildness and gentleness of the 
fathers as a class, and went far to render the 
slavery of the natives (for it was slavery, in very 
truth) easy and tolerable. Disguise it as we may, 
the fact remains that the freedom of the natives 
was taken from them, and they were made to do 
solely as their masters willed. But after all, as 
they were destined to be supplanted, at some pe- 
riod, by a superior and conquering race, they 
fared, in all probability, far better under the gentle 
guidance of the Franciscan fathers, than they 
would have under any other rule. The law of the 
" survival of the fittest " is as potent with races as 

130 



San Juan Bautista 

with individuals; and as that is so, and as the In- 
dians are fated to vanish before some civiHsed 
power, we can only be glad that the CaHfornia 
aborigines, during their last years as a people, had 
so kind task-masters as the Spanish padres. Mis- 
sion San Carlos claims Father Serra as peculiarly 
her own: he was the head of the mission system 
in Neuva California, and visited, in turn, all the 
missions which were in existence during his life; 
but San Carlos was his headquarters, and there 
he was buried, lamented by the entire settlement. 
Mission San Luis Rev had Father Peyri, second 
only to Serra for the love all evinced toward him: 
the mission cannot claim his body; for he left 
California and returned to his home in Spain; 
later, went to Rome, where it is supposed he died. 
Mission San Diego had her martyr. Father Jaime, 
murdered by the Indians. And so, at nearly all 
the missions, the tale is told. 

The campo santo is worth a few moments. It 
is along one side of the church, and, perhaps, fifty 
feet wide. The cemetery itself is interesting mere- 
ly from the fact that forty-three hundred bodies, 
Indians and Mexicans, are said to be buried there. 
They must have been buried in heaps! The view 
of the country toward the east from this cemetery is 
very fine: the ground slopes gradually for a long 
distance, until it reaches the foot-hills of the moun- 
tains on the horizon. These mountains are not 



13X 



Some By- Ways of California 

very lofty ones, but they bound the valley, in which 
San Juan Bautista lies, on the east, running north 
until they reach San Francisco Bay. This range 
is the Mt. Diablo range, Mt. Diablo, at the north- 
ern end, being the best known peak. 

But, as intimated before, San Juan is not only 
interesting on account of its early life as a mission 
town, but also because here were enacted some of 
the stirring, though minor, scenes of the restless 
days preceding the annexation of the country by 
the United States, as a member of the Union. 
Monterey, as the capital of the Mexican province 
of Neuva California, was the place where most 
of the lively game of politics was played; and it 
being only about thirty miles from San Juan, the 
latter town enjoyed a little of the overflow. Per- 
haps the people in general were not averse to 
having the excitement incident to the political 
game; for the life, it must be confessed, was such 
a quiet one, for these self-expatriated ones, that 
they must have welcomed a subject for discussion 
and political action, even though it might involve 
the transfer of the country from one nation to an- 
other. That the life in California was a peaceful, 
idyllic one, free from the strife and emulation of 
more busy lands, is true; but there were many, 
probably, who found it a little too quiet and peace- 
ful to suit their ardent natures, and such as these 
were glad of any change, whatever it might bring 

132 



San Juan Bautista 

with it. And there were many who, seeing the 
trend of affairs, were in sympathy with the agita- 
tion looking to the absorption of the country by 
the United States. 

Jose Castro was one of these ardent natures. 
Comandante general of the Cahfomia force, he had, 
from various causes, come into conflict with Gov- 
ernor Pico, who, in 1846, was at Los Angeles, at 
that time the temporary capital of the province. 
Customs affairs had something to do with the trou- 
ble between the two men, but the chief difificulty 
seems to have been that Castro was too much in- 
clined to act independently of the head of the gov- 
ernment. Castro may have had ambitions, and, per- 
haps, thought he could make political capital out of 
the Americans. At any rate — the whole matter is 
somewhat involved historically, and will never, 
probably, be fully known — Castro seems not to 
have been altogether unfriendly to the Americans, 
though Hittell, in his history, implies a doubt of 
this in speaking of his relations with Fremont. 

Spain — as, later, Mexico — was fated, almost 
from the first, (and so it was seen by the various 
European powers, as well as by America), to lose 
her rich province of California. Spain, at one time, 
the wealthiest and most powerful empire in Europe, 
was to lose, gradually but surely, her rich posses- 
sions in the new world. It is a law of nations, that 
no country — empire, kingdom or, probably, re- 

133 



Some By- Ways of California 

public, although we have not reached the point, 
yet, to be sure of this, in the case of the last, from 
experienced history — can remain at its height as the 
dominant world power beyond a certain length of 
time, after which it will begin to decline, whether 
slowly or rapidly, but surely, at any rate. Spain 
had occupied this position during the sixteenth 
century, although she was a less pronounced in- 
stance of this law than was Rome, in ancient times, 
or England, at the present day. But at the time 
of which this article speaks, near the end of the first 
half of the nineteenth century, Spain was losing 
rapidly, one after another, her colonies in the west- 
ern hemisphere. 

Mexico, freed from Spain in 1821, was herself 
to lose her rich territory on her northern confines. 
California, originally occupied and settled to pro- 
vide a defence from northern encroachments, had, 
nevertheless, always been neglected and left to 
shift for herself by the mother country; conse- 
quently, she was in a defenceless condition, and 
was known to be so by other nations. This was 
most shortsighted policy on the part of Spain, for 
it was the surest way to invite hostility and, prob- 
ably, invasion. And at this time there were three, 
yes, four, powers watching, with longing eyes, 
every move in the far away country. England, 
France, Russia and the United States, each was on 



134 



San Juan Bautista 

the alert, but it soon became apparent that the 
coveted prize lay between the first and the last of 
the four, with the odds in favor of the United States 
almost from the start. 

But it is not the purpose, in a descriptive ar- 
ticle of this kind, to go into an historical account 
of those times; simply to point out the salient 
features of those by-gone days which lend a present 
interest to San Juan Bautista. 

Early in 1846, John C. Fremont appeared at 
Monterey, and called on General Castro, to whom 
he gave an account of himself. He had, he said, 
been sent out by the United States Government 
to survey a practicable road to the Pacific; that 
his destination was Oregon, but, as his men were 
wearied and his supplies exhausted, he desired to 
rest in California during the remainder of the win- 
ter. For foreigners to come to, and remain in, 
the country was against the express wishes and 
commands of the government; for, by keeping out 
strangers, Mexico — as had Spain — hoped to pre- 
vent any attempt at wresting the country from her. 
But this rule of the home government was always 
very loosely kept by the Californians; partly, be- 
cause they were glad to vary the monotony of 
their daily life by receiving anyone from the out- 
side world who might come to their shores; partly, 
because there was usually a chance for some quiet 

135 



Some By- Ways of California 

barter and sale redounding to the profit of both 
sides. 

Whatever may have been Castro's reason, he 
did not refuse Fremont's request, and, a Httle later, 
in March, the latter removed to San Juan Bautista. 
The Spaniards were, however, roused, and ex- 
pressed their sentiments so strongly that Castro, 
at last, was compelled to order Fremont to leave. 
This he refused to do, but removed to a peak of 
the Gabilan Mountains, in the western part of 
the present county, which he fortified, and there 
raised the American flag. He gave out, also, that 
a force of ten thousand Americans were on their 
way to the country to take possession of it. Most 
likely he did this in the hope of bringing on war. 
It is very probable Fremont had received secret 
instructions from the United States Government 
as to his actions in concert with the Americans at 
Monterey, all of whom were taking their part in the 
game of conquest; but that he, at this time, acted 
beyond the authority given him is without doubt 
It was decidedly undiplomatic, the act of a mere 
filibuster, and only served to rouse the anger of 
the Spanish still more. Castro collected a force of 
two hundred men, and Fremont, having only sixty, 
retired, to continue on his route to Oregon. He 
did not go far, but turned back, pretending he 
had got into trouble with the Klamath Indians. 
It is believed that he had received secret despatches 

136 



San Juan Bautista 

from Washington as to future action, which caused 
his return. However, Fremont, soon after, quit- 
ted San Juan, and the town, thenceforth, was left 
in quiet, near, but not in, the Hvely scenes occur- 
ring at Monterey. We all know the result of those 
days: the cession of CaHfornia to the United States; 
but, excepting the sole incident of Fremont's pres- 
ence there, San Juan had little or nothing to do 
with it. It is said that Fremont, on first coming 
to San Juan Bautista, stayed awhile at Castro's 
house. This is not well authenticated; no more is 
the story that one of Fremont's men, when at the 
home of Angel Castro, the comandantes uncle, in- 
sulted his daughters, insisting that they should drink 
with him, and was ordered out of the house by the 
father. Bancroft mentions this occurrence, but 
it is repudiated by Hittell, who says there is no 
truth in it, although it was believed by the Cal- 
ifornians at the time, and had much to do with their 
animosity shown toward Fremont. Whatever 
truth, if any, there be in these tales, they are ap- 
parently connected with the house facing the plasa. 
About 1836, San Juan Bautista began to be called 
San Juan de Castro, in honor of the general, the 
most famous of that large family. This was not 
long-lived, and never became a fixed custom, and 
the town continues to be known by its ancient 
appellation. 

There are beautiful drives about San Juan. Of 

137 



Some By- Ways of California 

course, the favorite is to the mountain associated 
with Fremont, and which has borne his name ever 
since the memorable days of '46. It is one of the 
highest of the Gabilan Mountains, and from its 
summit a great stretch of country may be seen. 
It is a view of fertile fields and pastures and fruit 
farms, basking in the brilliant sun of the south. 
Beholding such a scene, we can, with less difficulty, 
conjure up the old days, and think that, after all, 
perhaps, those were the ** good old days " of this 
land, and that we may not have changed them for 
the better. It all lies in the point of view, and 
whether, or not, they harmonise with one's tem- 
perament. Perhaps it were better if more had the 
temperament to harmonise with those days. 
April, 1899. 



I3« 



Pescadero 

ALONG, narrow level strip of mesa, bordered 
on the one side by low-rounded hills, on 
the other — where it ends sharply at the 
brink, forty or fifty feet above tlie water — 
by the ocean; overhead, the luminous expanse of 
sky. Such are the elements entering into the pic- 
ture one finds on the shore near Pescadero. Sim- 
ple, indeed prosaic, does it sound in the bare enum- 
eration — level ground, hills, sea and sky — large, 
broad masses, one and all. But, ah! words cannot 
adequately describe the fascination, charm and 
loveliness, the completely satisfying beauty the ac- 
tual sight of it gives one. Level ground, hills, sky 
and sea — these are the materials; let me try to 
fashion them into what is their real presentment 
at this spot. If words of mine can give one an 
idea of the hundredth part of its beauty, I shall be 
more than satisfied. 

The long, level strip of land is smooth and even, 
covered everywhere by a low growth of thick, wiry 
sea-coast grass, sedge-Hke in character. In spring 
this must be a deep, bright green, but in September 
(the time of year when the writer saw it) it was 



Some By- Ways of California 

a warm grey-yellow and brown; warm from the 
yellowness in it, and from the brightness of the 
sun shining over, and penetrating into, it; but grey, 
and, therefore, cool, none the less, with the grey- 
ness of autumn and death. The strip of level 
ground is narrow, scarcely a half mile wide; the 
hills bordering it are softly rounded heights, for 
the most part covered with the same grass of the 
plain, but with low, dragging bushes here and 
there. The hills recede into the distance, one af- 
ter, one beyond, another, until they die away in the 
far depths of the horizon. Turning in the other 
direction, the sea edges the opposite border, broken 
of¥ sharply and perpendicularly. With the sea we 
have the life of the picture — the water deep grey- 
blue near at hand, lighter and fainter in the dis- 
tance, till, where it meets the sky line, it is almost 
imperceptibly mingled with it, sky and sea melting 
into each other, the sky but the continuation of 
the water. 

But beautiful as is the sea in color and chiaros- 
curo, it is in its life and movement that its chief 
charm lies. Restless the sea is, truly, at many 
times, but that is not the word to describe it cor- 
rectly on a sunny, quiet day in autumn. Moving, 
changing, now quiet, with hardly a ripple, now 
thundering, as the waves come rolling up to dash 
in pieces on the rocks below: there is constant 
change, not two successive seconds does it remain 

140 



Pescadero. 

the same, but it is far from restless. Here, the 
waves are extremely beautiful. Standing on the 
edge of the bluff, and looking down the precipitous 
side, the surf lies far below, spread out in panoramic 
extent. Slowly and majestically the waves ap- 
proach, roll toward the rocks, gathering height 
and momentum as they come, until finally they 
burst into foam and thunder; not waiting till they 
reach the shore, but showing their dazzHng white 
fringe one behind another, three and four, yes, five 
at a time. Imagine the wondrous beauty of the 
scene unrolled before one's eyes, and stretching 
out and away as far as sight can reach: the dark, 
irregular line of rock, running off in long curves, 
broken by bold, sharp promontories ; the grey-blue 
green of the water, reaching away till it touches the 
sky; the series of new-forming, changing, on-rush- 
ing waves, breaking into endless combinations of 
form as they advance to their annihilation, only 
to be followed by more and always more. 

Overhead, rising from the distant abyss of the 
sea, arching with a grand round sweep and drop- 
ping down behind the hills, is the blue dome of 
heaven. It is the same general color as the water, 
lighter, of course, and, at the same time, slightly 
bluer in hue. On this autumn afternoon, it is free 
from all clouds, except for great, broad, diaphanous 
sheets of palest grey-white, hardly lighter, indeed, 
than the sky blue, but quite enough to break up the 

141 



Some By- Ways of California 

expanse which, otherwise, might be monotonous. 
The sun shines rather palely through these thin 
masses and there is a subdued golden gUm- 
mer over and through everything, very dif- 
ferent from the hard, brilliant yellow-white 
of unclouded sunshine. It is not easy to tell wheth- 
er this be a warm or a cool picture, speaking as an 
artist: sometimes we declare it is the one, the next 
minute we say it must be the other; but as sunset 
approaches this doubt becomes less, until it van- 
ishes; for then the warm yellow, almost ruddy, 
color appears in full strength. Then, we have a 
scene that is hardly earthly in its beauty: one is 
reminded of the '* bright jasper walls " of the New 
Jerusalem, when gazing at the lucent water, the 
hills, yellow, pink, purple, in the rays of the set- 
ting sun, the deep blue of the sky overhead fad- 
ing away into palest amber where it meets the sea 
at the horizon's edge. Such a view as this is, 
however, not common: Nature is sparing of her 
supreme efforts in beauty as well as power even 
here in California. 

Do these feeble words convey the merest skele- 
ton idea of the scene? Level ground, hill, sea and 
sky — here they are, but idealised almost out of 
their true semblance in the transforming alembic 
of color, Nature's greatest magic. This scene 
would be beautiful if done in black and white; but 



142 



Pescadero. 

reproduced in color by a capable hand, we should 
have more than a picture; we should have a vision. 

This is the aspect of the country on the coast 
at Pescadero. The high level mesa, breaking off 
abruptly in the steep precipice at the water's edge, 
and the absence of nearly all sandy beach, are 
characteristics of this part of the California coast. 
Although not so pastorally beautiful as the lovely 
scenes farther south, below Capistrano, nor so 
grandly wild with huge masses of craggy rocks, 
as the Monterey peninsula displays, it combines 
the elements of both regions, fusing them into a 
new and individual type of landscape beauty. 

But there is one attraction of the coast at Pes- 
cadero which is quite unique, and which is known 
far and wide, known, it might be safe to say, the 
world over. This is the Pebble Beach. Pebbles 
of all kinds, more or less pretty, are found here 
and there, in greater or less abundance, at various 
coast points, north and south of here. Some are 
cut and polished for personal adornment — such as 
the moonstones found at Redondo; but at no place 
are they so numerous as here. Pebble Beach lies 
in a little cove, not half a mile from point to point. 
There is very little real beach — that is, sandy beach 
— but the larger part is made up of a mass of 
pebbles lying anywhere up to ten feet deep, and ex- 
tending from near the bluff quite to the water's 
edge. This mass of pebbles appears to be deepest 

143 



Some By- Ways of California 

just at the line of high water, where they form a 
ridge or bank several feet high; below are more 
pebbles, a thin layer running out into the water. 
The tide washes them up continually, they being 
most plentiful at low tide. These pebbles lie in a 
stratum running from the hills just back from the 
beach into the water; and they seem to be washed 
out from the rocks as well as up from below the 
water. 

These pebbles are quite small, and are of all 
colors, from white through yellow, red, green, 
brown and black. The green are the commonest, 
and also prettiest, of the colored stones, and oc- 
casionally a clear, nearly transparent, one is found, 
which is very beautiful, almost like a beryl. The 
red are few, and not remarkable; the black, as 
well; the brown, likewise, unless marked with 
green or grey, are not pretty. But the white and 
very light colored ones are the gems, especially 
when clear: the clearer and more iridescent they 
are the handsomer. Once in a while one is found 
as beautiful and fiery as an opal, and these are 
the ones to be sought for. Naturally, it might be 
thought that the deeper one digs, the finer become 
the stones, but such is not the case. It does not 
seem to make any particular difference where one 
hunts for them, except at very low tide when the 
better ones are found near tlie water. There are 
two or three places on the beach along here, reach- 

144 



Pescadero. 

ing about ten miles, where pebbles can be found, 
in some spots, larger in size, in some places, of a 
particular kind, such as moss agates or carnelians; 
but here, at Pebble Beach, all can be found if 
searched for long enough. All these pebbles are, 
of course, smoothed and rounded by the action 
of the waves, and when wet they glisten and shine 
as though poHshed bright. 

It is most amusing to watch the visitors to this 
spot w^hen they once get among these pebbles. 
There seems to be an irresistible fascination about 
them, and to which all are subject. Staid, dig- 
nified people are not proof against their attraction; 
for so soon as they reach the spot, their dignity 
succumbs, and they drop to the ground at once to 
delve among the pebbles. Children, of course, 
and young people, as well, spend hours here hunt- 
ing for the gems; and all leave at the end of their 
visit well laden with their spoils. It is a question 
how long the stones are kept as a souvenir of the 
spot; but the writer, at least, can say truthfully, 
that not one of those he gathered has, as yet, been 
thrown away. A bottle full of these little pebbles 
is a pretty sight. 

But the crowning object of one's search among 
the stones is the w-ater-drop, and they are rare. The 
writer hunted for one for nearly three hours, and 
without success: he just happened not to come 
across one, that was all, although, as said before, 

145 



Some By- Ways of California 

they are seldom found. Some persons have luck 
in finding these little treasures, similar to that for 
finding four-leafed clover, while others, searching 
quite as diligently, will never come across one. 
A water-drop is like the ordinary clear white peb- 
ble, but is hollow, and usually — though not al- 
ways — holds a drop of water. Sometimes the wa- 
ter completely fills the cavity; sometimes, only part- 
ly, when the bubble of air moves about like the 
bubble in a spirit-level; sometimes there is no wa- 
ter in it, only the empty cavity. This last condition 
occurs to all water-drops eventually; for the liquid 
seems to evaporate after being kept out of water 
for some time. Put the pebble into water, and 
it will enter and fill the cavity once more. 

This is the charm of Pescadero: the sea and 
sky, the hills and rocky and pebbly beach. One 
can spend long hours on the almost overhanging 
7nesa, drinking in the beauty of life and form and 
color, listening to the deep roar of the waves; be- 
coming, for the time, at least, one with the soul of 
Nature, which is God. Scenes of greatest mag- 
nificence or beauty are not to be made daily and 
hourly companions: we should lose a large part of 
the reverence they ought always to arouse in us, 
and should find them become tame and uninterest- 
ing. Common they could never be to the true lover 
of Nature in her highest manifestations; but the 
acute thrill of satisfied desire becomes dulled with 

146 



Pescadero. 

too frequent repetition. With a scene like this one 
at Pescadero, where hearing is added to sight, this 
dulHng of sense is less marked. One may easily 
tire of, or, at least, become indifferent to, the sight 
of limitless sky and water; — its very limitlessness 
is fatiguing to many — ; but who can tire of the 
sound or movement of the weaves, in their on-rush- 
ing, irresistible sweep toward the shore? 

This is the charm of Pescadero. There are 
other beauties to be found in this region, beauties 
which, though not as grand and overpowering as 
the coast scenes, are yet so fine and alluring that 
they would entice many to the place, even were 
there no other. The little town is prettily settled 
in the low land near the water, but separated from 
it by the range of hills. The prettiest view of the 
town is had from the road to the beach, just before 
rounding the hill which finally cuts it off; its white 
houses are in pleasing contrast with the tawny, 
marshy ground lying between the low hills of the 
coast and the distant mountains toward the east. 
Pescadero has a population of only about five 
hundred inhabitants, made up, to a large extent, of 
Portuguese — a deviation from the usual Spanish 
element found in small California towns, although 
there are some Spaniards — or Mexicans rather — 
here. 

The town boasts of a good hotel, situated on 
the centre square, or plaza, and known among the 

147 



Some By- Ways of California 

traveling public of the state; for Pescaclero is a 
resort much patronised during the winter season. 
This should be taken in a comparative sense; for 
Pescadero lies thirty-one miles from Redwood 
City, the nearest railroad point, and has to be reach- 
ed by stage over the mountains. In some ways 
this is a drawback — a drawback for those who can- 
not take so long a stage ride — but the advantages 
accruing from its very inaccessibility more than off- 
set the drawback. So long as it remains off the 
common, beaten track, so long will it keep much 
of its simple country ways, unknowing what it is 
to be swamped by hordes of hurrying tourists. 
How long it will remain the quiet Pescadero of the 
present is a question: some years ago there was 
talk of a railroad to the town, bringing it into 
close touch with San Francisco and the outside 
world. An hotel was built on the shore close to 
Pebble Beach, in anticipation of flourishing busi- 
ness. It has, however, never been opened; and 
it stands there to-day, a blot on the fair landscape. 
Long may it remain as it is! The coast, at this 
point, is incompatible with crowds of nervous, rush- 
ing travelers — a combination unthinkable to the 
true Nature worshiper. 

It is quite unnecessary to say that Pescadero 
is a quiet place. The daily arrival and departure of 
the stages; the evening mail; an occasional dance 
or entertainment in the town hall; a bonfire on the 

148 



Pescadero. 

square to attract an audience to hear some political 
candidate (the writer had this experience during 
his stay here); and, maybe, the regularly recurring 
attendance at church on the Sabbath — these are 
the salient occurrences in the somewhat humdrum 
life of the place. Pescadero is an agricultural com- 
munity : products of the farm and garden are taken 
to a coast point a few miles south, and transported 
by coast steamer to the metropoUs. 

Probably the greatest attraction of Pescadero, 
after the coast, are the redwood forests of the 
mountains lying between the town and Redwood 
City, and over which the stage, in its daily going 
and coming, passes. These forests are found on 
the coast side of the hills, at least in that section of 
the country traversed by the road, and form a 
dense growth in many spots. None, perhaps, are 
as tall as the small grove of big trees at Felton, 
near Santa Cruz, about thirty-five miles south from 
Pescadero; yet many are two hundred feet high, 
some look to be two hundred and fifty feet; but 
what signify a few feet more or less in such 
heights as these? Suffice that they are immense, 
majestic in their proportions. For miles, the road 
runs through the midst of these trees, winding and 
curving among the hills, almost to the coast. 
Straight up shoot the dark, nearly black, trunks, 
until they reach, and mingle with, the network of 
boughs and foliage, forming a canopy of dark, 

149 



Some By- Ways of California 

vivid green, so dense that not a ray of sunlight can 
filter through; great bowers of perfect shade and 
coolness do the thick clusters of trees make, most 
refreshing to feel when suffering the long trip from 
the railroad on a hot summer day. A particularly 
alluring feature of these groves is the almost com- 
plete absence of under-growth : one may wander 
under and among the trees in every direction, and 
find no obstruction from shrubs, bushes or young 
trees, nor from young trees and sprouts of the red- 
woods themselves. A ramble among these trees 
is nearly as free and unobstructed as along the open 
road. The redwoods reach to within two or three 
miles of Pescadero. One has Pescadero Creek 
for a companion on the drive, from near the sum- 
mit to within a mile or two of the town: it is a 
rushing mountain stream, and is charmingly set 
amid the redwood trees, as it hurries down its rocky 
channel. 

A variation from the stage ride from Redwood 
City may be had by taking the stage — running 
daily likewise — to or from San IMateo. A good 
way is to go by one stage, returning by the other. 
The San Mateo route is two miles longer, and al- 
together is not so attractive as the other; but it 
possesses one feature denied to the shorter route. 
The way runs north along near the coast for half 
the distance, until Half Moon Bay is reached, but 
not close enough to the blufif to afiford a glimpse 

150 



Pescadero 

of the ocean, barring only a short bit of two or 
three miles. This little bit, however, makes up in 
loveliness what it lacks in amount: it is as beau- 
tiful as the rest of the coast scenery hereabouts. 
But it is soon passed, and after leaving Half Moon 
Bay — a town of, perhaps, one thousand or two 
thousand people, judging from the view one has of 
it on passing through — the road goes over the 
mountains, affording some fine views, but not the 
equal of those on the Redwood City route: the 
redwoods, also, are wanting. Two little lakes are 
passed on the way, both, when the writer saw them, 
ruffled into waves by the stiff wind blowing down 
the canon from San Francisco, fifteen miles away. 

Staging is still a feature of California travel, 
although a minor one. But such places as Pala, 
Jolon and Pescadero cannot be seen without under- 
going the tedium of long stage rides. Yet who, 
having once seen these beauty spots, ever regrets 
the fatigue that must be undergone in order to 
visit them? And as they necessitate a stage jour- 
ney, they are for that very reason, still unspoiled 
by the presence of the multitude. However much 
the inhabitants may long and sigh for the railroad, 
no lover of Pescadero's charm can wish for any 
change from its present quiet, uneventful life, where 
Nature may be followed undisturbed. These, all, 
wish never to hear of the advent of the railroad. 

January, 1901. 

151 



The Charm of Southern California 

WITHIN the past few years Southern Cal- 
ifornia is become the Mecca of the con- 
stantly increasing number of winter 
tourists, as well as of invalids and per- 
sons in delicate health who seek to avoid the rigors 
of the cold season of the northern states. This win- 
ter travel to the southern half of California has 
grown to such proportions, at the present time, that 
Bermuda, Florida and other resorts of the Atlantic 
border, once so popular, have been forced more or 
less into the background. Not that they are less 
visited than formerly — probably the guests at those 
places number more each year — but Southern Cal- 
ifornia fills, now, so large a place in the thoughts 
of the traveling public as to throw them quite into 
the shade. This has occurred notwithstanding the 
long overland journey, which is more or less try- 
ing to all, strong or delicate. Fashion, most like- 
ly, has something to do with this, as it rules, in a 
greater or less degree, in everything temporal; but 
there is much more than fashion to account for the 
attraction nearly everyone evinces for Southern 
California, after having made a visit here, either for 

152 



The Charm of Southern California. 

health or pleasure. Nearly all, on returning to 
their eastern homes, express the hope of a future 
visit; many do come a second time; some, indeed, 
are not content until they return to make it their 
permanent home, so strong is the impression made 
upon them by this land of sunshine, fruit and flow- 
ers. 

Suppose one, to whom Southern California is 
an unknown country, were to ask a resident of Los 
Angeles, the metropolis of Southern California, for 
instance, in what consisted the strange influence 
made upon the large majority of persons, visitors to, 
or residents of, this half of the state, he w^ould an- 
swer without the least hesitation : the climate. The 
climate is, par excellence, what people come here for; 
it is the first, as it is the most important, incentive 
to a visit to the country. But questioning this im- 
aginary resident for a little more detailed informa- 
tion on the subject, since the climate is understood to 
be the chief attraction, he would hesitate a moment 
before answering, and his answer would depend 
upon what was his business, or mental and aesthetic 
character. If he were a land owner, having large 
tracts of land for sale, he would say a great part 
of the pleasure of living in this country is because 
one can, with but a few acres, grow an almost urn 
heard of number and variety of fruits, to say noth- 
ing of vegetables, and all of the finest quality. If 
his land consist of city lots, he will say it lies much 

153 



Some By-Ways of California 

in the case with which beautiful homes can, with 
a comparatively slight cost, be created, homes that 
may be made into perfect bowers of beauty with 
the aid of flowers and trees, which grow here so 
profusely and luxuriantly. Were our informant, on 
the contrary, a gentleman of means and leisure, 
fond of, and used to, good society, he might tell us 
that one of the greatest attractions of Southern Cal- 
ifornia was to be found in the many refined and 
cultured persons living here, persons most of whom 
had come originally from the eastern states. By 
this he would not mean to convey the idea that the 
culture and refinement of the Angelenos was above 
that of any other part of the country, east or west; 
simply that this class of people represent a larger 
proportion of the population, as a whole, than may 
be found in, perhaps, any other city in the United 
States. If our resident be an artist, there will be no 
hesitation in his reply, and which he will give be- 
fore the first one of climate — that is, the scenery. 
If of an imaginative, romantic turn of mind, in- 
terested in the early history of the state, and an 
admirer of the architectural remains of early days, 
his answer (and this, it is altogether likely, would 
be the second answer of our artist) would be the 
associations of those early days remaining to the 
present time. And in these last two answers would 
be found two things which, with the climate, go 



The Charm of Southern California 

to make the larger part of the wonderful charm 
Southern California exerts on everyone. 

Let us take up these three factors — climate, 
scenery, associations — in turn, and see if, by a little 
analysis, we can arrive at a satisfactory solution of 
this illusive, though potent, attribute of the country. 
And first, of climate. 

It is beside our purpose to give a list of tables 
of statistics of temperature, rainfall, and all the 
other things connected with climate. We have 
nothing to do with such jejune affairs; for though 
they, together, make up a whole, called climate, 
it is not that side of the subject which interests us. 
Neither will climate, in general, take up much of 
our time and attention; only enough to point out 
some of the advantages accruing to this country 
from the perfect meteorological conditions which 
are the rule here. 

Nearly everyone has the notion that because 
Southern California is a mild country in winter, it 
must be intolerably hot in summer. This is nat- 
ural, and, supposing everything else to be equal, 
this would be the case; but nothing could be more 
erroneous under the conditions prevailing here. 
That the summers are hot goes without saying, — 
so are the New England summers — , but that they 
are intolerably, or even uncomfortably, so, except 
for very few and brief periods, is another matter 
entirely. Heat and cold, although a large part, are 

155 



Some By- Ways of California 

not, by any means, the whole of the climate; and 
here, in Southern CaHfornia, almost as great a fac- 
tor in making up complete comfort is humidity, or 
rather, the absence of humidity; for excepting dur- 
ing times of rain and heavy fog, the percentage of 
moisture in the air is very low. We all know how 
disagreeable, uncomfortable, depressing and thor- 
oughly demoralising is a damp day during a hot 
spell in the east. In Southern California such days 
are almost never encountered; and the tempera- 
ture which may be ten, twenty degrees higher than 
is usually met with in the east, on account of the 
accompanying dryness, is much more easily borne. 
Another mitigating circumstance is the sea-breeze 
which, cool and refreshing, blows nearly every af- 
ternoon during the summer. It is both more con- 
stant and powerful than the average Atlantic sea- 
breeze, and is due to the immense stretches of the 
desert-like interior which, becoming greatly heated 
during the long hours of sunshine, act as a vast 
siphon and draw in the cool sea-breeze to take the 
place of the overlying body of hot air as it rises 
above the earth. But the hottest days in this land 
are, almost invariably, followed by cool and in- 
vigorating nights which leave one refreshed the 
next morning. 

One of the most prominent features of this cli- 
mate is the large, the very large number of sun- 
shiny days included in the three hundred and sixty- 

156 



The Charm of Southern CaUfornia 

five of the year. The eastern winter months cor- 
respond to the rainy season here, but to call the 
months of short days the rainy season is simply to 
distinguish it from the dry season, when no rain 
falls: according to eastern standards, it is a mis- 
nomer, pure and simple. Because it is dubbed the 
rainy season, persons unfamiliar with California 
must jump to the conclusion that, during all the 
time included in that term, there is a downpour of 
rain without cessation. One would think that, by 
this time, everyone would know differently, but 
such is not the case. Soon after returning to the 
east, after a four years' stay in California, the writer 
met a stranger, a cultured and well-informed wom- 
an, at a friend's house. The first question she ask- 
ed, on hearing he was just returned from the far 
west, was : " Tell me, does it rain all the time in 
CaUfornia during the rainy season?" From No- 
vember to April, the months when it rains — if it 
rain at all — the sunshiny days far outnumber the 
rainy and cloudy ones. 

Southern California is the Ultima Thule of 
campers. From May to October, one may select 
a time for an outing party, and be absolutely cer- 
tain of having fair weather, whether the time chosen 
be three days or three months ahead. Where else 
can this be said? In the mountains, among the 
foothills and cations, on the coast, all have this pe- 
culiar attraction, all may be visited with the same 



Some By- Ways of California 

assurance of propitious weather. There are draw- 
backs at times, of course — even Southern CaHfor- 
nia is not flawless — but they are few; an occasional 
thunder storm among the mountains ; a stiff breeze, 
and the more frequent night fog, which, however, 
clears usually long before noon. Game is not so 
universally common as it used to be, but there is 
still plenty of it in many parts: fishing, too, may 
be found in the mountain streams, in addition to 
splendid sea fishing all along the coast. Fresh wa- 
ter fishing, however, brings up the great want, the 
absence of water, as a lake is almost non est, and 
rivers and streams are so widely scattered that they 
are not much more in evidence. In the summer 
nearly all of them dry up to a mere thread. It 
seems a pity that there is not more water in the 
shape of lakes and rivers, to add to the natural 
beauty of the landscape; but Southern California 
could hardly have the climate it is blessed with were 
there water in eastern abundance. We must re- 
member that this is a barren country, that only by 
irrigation can the wonderful products that are rais- 
ed here be secured. 

Lest we be accused of undue partiality, we 
hasten to add a few words on the drawbacks of this 
clime; for, as intimated above. Southern California 
has its drawbacks, and drawbacks that, to some 
persons, are rather formidable. The wind is almost 
always in evidence, especially in the afternoon 

158 



The Charm of Southern Caliiornia 

when the sea-breeze is active. This, at irregular in- 
tervals of from two or three days to a week or more, 
is diversified, during the winter months, by the north 
winds, or "northers," as they are called; warm 
winds that sap the moisture out of everything, and 
raise great clouds of dust; they blow steadily for 
three or four days. A few people find the great 
dryness of the winds beneficial, but to the large 
majority they are extremely disagreeable. Wind 
and dust: Southern California has both in plenty. 

Another drawback, which some find trying, is 
the great disparity between the temperatures of the 
day and night. In the summer time the ordinary 
range of the thermometer is from thirty to forty 
degrees: after a warm day of from ninety to one 
hundred degrees, the temperature will drop at night 
to as low as sixty to seventy degrees. This, per- 
haps, is the average: it is easily surpassed in the 
towns of the interior, where the days are warmer 
and the nights cooler than in those places nearer 
the coast. In the winter months this difference is 
not so great, although more than appreciable. 
People have only lately learned the lesson that a 
furnace or, in default of a furnace, a fireplace in 
every room is almost as much a necessity here 
as in the east, and the latest built houses are nearly 
always furnished with the former. It is not neces- 
sary to keep it going so fiercely all the time as in 
New England, but the evenings and early morn- 

159 



Some By- Ways of California 

ings are few, during the short days of the year, 
when a fire of some kind is not a necessity to all but 
the most robust. 

One peculiar thing about the climate is the 
penetrating quality of the air. Except in very hot 
weather, the air seems never to become thoroughly 
warmed by the sun: the shade is always cool, not 
infrequently uncomfortably so. Why this is so is 
not known. One would naturally expect to find 
this otherwise, for we feel the cold most when the 
air is damp. In Southern California this penetrat- 
ing characteristic of the air is, of course, intensified 
when it is loaded with moisture; but this is only 
during rains and fogs, when cool weather generally 
prevails. To what is due this penetrating quality 
of the air? Scientists are at a loss to explain it, 
although it is usually attributed, rather vaguely, 
to its thinness. When, however, this piercing qual- 
ity of the atmosphere is not present, as sometimes 
occurs, there is then a soft, balmy feel to the light 
breeze which is indescribably soothing, like a most 
delicate caress. 

Earthquakes are not exactly a factor going to 
make up climate; yet it may be well to say a word 
or two on the subject, since not a few persons, 
never having had any experience with such pheno- 
mena, fancy they must be awful; and they have 
a fear of them which is quite unreasonable. 
Earthquakes are not pleasant, to be sure, but the 

i6o 



The Charm of Southern California 

reality is hardly so dreadful as that. That slight 
earthquake shocks are by no means rare here is 
well known; but they are nearly always so slight as 
to be hardly perceptible unless one be in a tall 
building. Fear of possible damage from this cause 
seems to be dying out; for brick buildings are put 
up five and six stories high; although, as land be- 
comes valuable and population dense, builders are 
willing to take the greater risk for the greater gain. 
Severe earthquakes are not unknown in California: 
witness the shock that destroyed the mission church 
at Capistrano in 1812, and, in the northern part of 
the state, the disaster in 1872 at Lone Pine; and 
what has occurred here may occur again at any 
hour or minute. It would, too, take no such se- 
vere shock as that at Lone Pine to create havoc in 
the large cities vastly greater than has been ex- 
perienced. Still, as eighty-seven years have gone 
by without any harm resulting from earthquakes in 
the southern part of the state, another eighty-seven 
may pass quite as free from such disturbances. 
People do not go about thinking of what may come 
to pass in regard to earthquakes, near or remote.* 
But these, after all, are slight faults. We must 

*0nly a few days atter this was written, Southern California 
was visited by an earthquake, which caused the death of six In- 
dians, and entailed a loss of about twenty thousand dollars to prop- 
erty at, and in the neighborhood of, San Jacinto. This occurred 
December 25, 1899. 

161 



Some By- Ways of California 

not expect perfection anywhere in this world; yet 
if one overlook these few blemishes, the climate 
in Southern California will be found to approach as 
near to perfection as any place on earth. Where 
can you find more glorious sunny days, and in such 
lavish numbers? Where more healthful, more de- 
lightful air to breathe? Where such beautiful scen- 
ery to please the eye; such lovely wild flowers to 
arrest the fancy; such delicious fruit, almost num- 
berless in variety, to tickle the palate? No wonder 
so many persons succumb to the prevailing disease 
— laziness — and dream the days away, enchanted 
with all around them, an enchantment more potent 
than any wrought by wizard of old! 

We have said enough about the climate. Our 
aim was to point out a few of the salient features 
as they go to make up the charm which none can 
wholly resist. Let us turn to the scenery of South- 
ern California. It is a large subject, as large and 
diversified as is the country under discussion. 

Southern California, from the landscape point 
of view, is a succession of surprises: whether of 
mountain or plain, sea coast or interior, desert or 
water-course, it matters not; every spot has its own 
distinctive, peculiar beauty and character. Every 
mile, frequently, alters the view and brings out new 
and entirely diflferent effects from those left behind. 
Wlicther traveling by railroad, driving through the 
country far from the iron way, or rambling on foot 

162 



The Charm of Southern California 

in the innumerable by-paths, or cUmbing the many 
hills, this constant change may be found. It is, 
indeed, one of the charms of this part of the state, 
and may make up, in great measure, for the com- 
parative lack of contrast between the different sea- 
sons, which many persons, fresh from the east, and 
fond of winter and its cold and snow, find some- 
what monotonous. Southern California, of course, 
except in the mountainous regions, is wanting in 
this feature of the eastern landscape — a fact which, 
doubtless, is not a drawback in the minds of the 
greater number. 

This country is particularly fortunate in being 
so well broken up by mountains; whether they be 
ranges, isolated peaks or foothills, hardly a view 
can be found which does not contain some eleva- 
tion more or less lofty. Mountains are mountains 
wherever they may be; but there are mountains and 
mountains, and those found here are, in general, 
far different in effect from the hills of the east. 
Their unlikeness consists in the comparatively 
great lack of forest growth covering their sides, 
and in their color, w4iich is the color of the naked 
ground, where trees are absent. Yellow, pink, 
brown, of all hues and shades, marked and crossed 
by grey and blue in the shadows of the canons and 
canadas, are the colors spread out in one great 
sweep along the horizon. Even the foreground, in 
the uncultivated places, is of the same general color 

163 



Some By-Ways of California 

scheme, and the whole makes a harmony, a 
" nocturne " in yellow and brown, if in the sunlight, 
of yellow and grey, if the day be cloudy. This col- 
or scheme, while more delicate, is fuller of delight 
to the trained eye than are large masses of green. 
Here there is little green, excepting in the spring 
and early summer; yet there is nearly always some, 
and enough to relieve the warm yellow, which, af- 
ter all, has its own perfect contrast in the cool grey 
of the shadows, ever present, ever satisfying. 

The color of the mountains varies with each hour 
of the day, and with every atmospheric change. 
Now they are seen looming up before us, clear 
and distinct, each marking and furrow in their 
scarred sides as sharply defined as a knife-edge, 
appearing hardly a stone's throw from us, so crys- 
talline is the air through which we see them; on a 
day when the moisture is heavy, they show as 
through a veil, vaguely defined flat masses of color, 
or, perhaps, entirely obscured; again, in stormy 
weather, when the sky is overlaid with heavy, low- 
ering clouds, the mountains start out, dark and 
ponderous, blue, purple and black, their tops, sharp 
and pointed, piercing the pall of clouds ; or, covered 
by their huge, rolling masses driven wildly by the 
rushing wind; then, again, at night, whether by 
moonlight or merely the faint, ethereal glimmer 
shed by the stars, the mountains have new aspects, 
mild and genial, or cold and forbidding. 

164 



The Charm of Southern California 

These are some of the pictures the mountains 
offer under the varying effects evoked by wind and 
weather, night and day, sunshine and storm, to 
every sympathetic observer. But multitudinous as 
are their changes, they are nearly, if not quite, 
equaled in number by the wonderful color effects 
that sunset brings out. The sunsets in California 
are almost unrivalled anywhere on earth; and this 
is the rule, rather than the exception. Evening af- 
ter evening, often for as long as a week, without a 
break, the writer has seen a series of glowing, color- 
pictures unrolled before the sight. Such wondrous 
colors streaming from their "celestial urn" are 
common here, varying with the infinite variety of 

Nature. 

But there is one season of the year when the 
coloring of the Californian landscape, full and rich 
as it ever is, reaches a height which is almost un- 
believable. This is in the early spring, when the 
rainy season is nearly passed. After the first two 
or three rains of the winter have thoroughly soaked 
the parched and thirsty earth, the ground every- 
where begins to lose the sombre, dim yellow and 
brown color it has worn for so many months, and 
to freshen with the tenderest, most lovely hues and 
tints of green, at first faint and pale, but soon, so 
soon, bright, clear and strong. The change from 
the sober yellow, and the rapidity with which it 
occurs, form the wonder of it. Yet this is but the 

i6S 



Some By- Ways of California 

prelude to the climax. Later, after this change has 
reached its height, there comes another — not 
change, that is too weak a word, but a transforma- 
tion — at the flowering time of all the countless hosts 
of plants, whether tall shrubs or tiny ground herbs. 
This comes quite as suddenly as the former, but the 
efifect is far greater: one is fairly bewildered at the 
sight, as it changes from day to day, almost from 
hour to hour. Imagine such a picture as this: — 
not a rare one in Southern CaHfornia in the early 
days of spring — :a broad expanse of country, level 
in great part, but on one side, and running far 
forward to die away in the distance, formed of 
gently rounded hills, not over two or three hundred 
feet high, here crowding close together, beyond 
opening out, showing little peaceful cailadas; at one 
place, between the hills, where they separate more 
widely, may be seen a low, long line, sharp against 
the horizon, of the same color and only a little 
darker than the sky above — the sea. This is the 
scene as it is in light and shade. Now let us color 
it as Nature has done: over all the ground, both the 
broad and level extent and the softly rounded hills, 
lies a covering of tender green, covering so thick 
that not a particle of the brown earth beneath shows 
through; on this thick, green mantle are dropped 
great spots of glowing, dazzling color, yellow, 
orange, red, blue, madder, purple, brown. Each 
color collects in spots by itself, as distinct, clear 

I66 



The Charm of Southern California 

and well-defined as though its boundary lines had 
been marked out with an invisible fence, beyond 
which it could not wander. It is singular how ex- 
clusive the wild flowers are here: each one seems 
to have its own favorite habitat, rarely sorting with 
its neighbors of another color. Here are the 
Eschscholtda, the California poppy in all its mag- 
nificence, gleaming in the distance like molten gold, 
so powerful in color are its yellow and orange pet- 
als; the mustard, one of the commonest and most 
beautiful plants, when found in large, dense masses 
over great spaces, as it nearly always is; — its but- 
tercup yellow blossoms are an effective contrast to 
the deeper orange yellow of the poppy — ;the brod- 
iaea, a pure, delicate purple-blue; the wild hya- 
cinth, exquisitely pink; the red lupin; the dodder, 
a pleasing enough pinkish orange when seen from 
afar, but a somewhat repulsive plant near. It is 
like a carpet with a ground of green, and woven 
with patterns of the brightest colors, kaleidoscopic 
in their brilliant tints. Overhead is the deep blue 
dome, paling as it descends until it touches the 
sea beyond the gap in the hills. Truly, it seems 
as though Nature had made a supreme effort to 
show what she can do in this land of color and sun- 
shine. 

Tlie flowers themselves, cultivated as well as 
wild, are by no means a small part of the charm of 
this land. Here we may find wild blossoms, un- 

167 



Some By-Ways of California 

countable in number, unrivalled in color, many 
species and genera new to the easterner. The 
Eschscholtzia is the best known, and one of the 
commonest; the mariposa, a delicate lavender- 
white lily, about the size of the tulip, but not so 
thickly growing as to make an impression on the 
landscape ; the Matilija poppy, a superb white flow- 
er with a large, round, yellow centre: it covers the 
top of a tall, hardy shrub, and is one of the most 
regal flowers growing here; but it is comparatively 
rare, being found in only three or four rather out-of- 
the-way spots on, or near, the coast. The sage 
brush, of the plains and desert, is a strong factor 
in the spring landscape, coloring large spaces a 
faint grey-white flushed with pink — one cannot help 
thinking of the bees and their favorite food at sight 
of it. The cultivated flowers are not different here 
from those grown in the east, with the exception 
that where, in the east, they must be grown, for 
the most part, in greenhouses, or, if out of doors, 
only with the greatest care and attention, here they 
attain a hardiness and luxuriance nearly akin to 
that of the wild flowers themselves. Roses of 
every imaginable variety are in blossom nearly the 
whole year round; the century-plant goes through 
its flowering time as a matter of course; the Eng- 
lish violet blooms in thick beds, filling the air 
with its fragrance; carnations and pinks grow to 

i68 



The Charm of Southern California 

such size and perfection as to rival the famous Law- 
son pink itself. 

After what has been said in a preceding article 
about the Mojave Desert, it will not be necessary to 
add much here. It has a weird beauty of its own, 
a pensive, twilight kind of character both romantic 
and saddening in its efifect on an impressionable 
mind. Great expanses — sometimes level as a floor, 
sometimes undulating and rising into hills, or cul- 
minating in high mountains — yellow and brown and 
grey, changing gradually as they recede to blue and 
purple : the color is subdued, yet full and rich. And 
here, as in the other places in Southern California, 
spring comes accompanied by all the splendid col- 
oring of blossom time; for though the flowers of 
the desert are less dense in masses, they are none 
the less brilliant and glowing than those of the 
country bordering the sea. And here, too, the 
magnificent sunsets of the inhabited part of this 
land are unsurpassed, difficult as it is to believe it: 
the writer has seen sunsets here that were awe 
inspiring; neither are they exceptional — one does 
not need to wait days and weeks for a repetition of 
supreme beauty. 

Not a small part of the fascination of hill, plain 
and desert is contributed by the birds. What 
should we do without the mocking-birds, linnets, 
robins, humming-birds, orioles? And how could 
we spare the lark that most companionable bird 

169 



Some By-Ways of California 

of the plains? Wherever one may wander — along 
the ocean-bordering country, over the plains of 
the interior, among the foothills and canons — his 
lovely, plaintive, almost human song may be heard 
nearly everywhere, at frequent intervals the live- 
long day. He is one of the blessings of this land, 
one which every lover of beautiful song welcomes 
as heartily as the ordinary mortal the warm bright 
days of this climate. 

Mountain scenery is a large part of the land- 
scape in California. Whether close at hand, 
bounding the confines of the narrow canons, or in 
the far distance, a narrow band on the horizon, 
faint and seemingly transparent, they are a dom- 
inant feature nearly everywhere. But, without 
doubt, the most charming, the most ideally beau- 
tiful mountain scenes are those where the hills are 
found in the same view with the ocean, whether 
they be in the distance, forming the background, 
or running out, promontory-like, boldly into the 
water. Such views of combined mountain and 
water are not common, even in California; but 
there are places where this combination may be seen 
in perfect loveliness of artistic color and arrange- 
ment. The sea, too, as well as the land, has its 
own characteristics, differentiating it from the At- 
lantic. It is, in general, less turbulent on the 
Southern California coast; its waters are lighter 
in tint and have less the look of an ocean than of 



170 



The Charm of Southern California 

a great lake. Yet it can be lowering and angry, 
displaying all the awful violence of which the sea is 
capable. 

As in the case of the mountains alone, so with 
the combined mountain and ocean view, there are 
the countless different effects of light and shade 
and color, during the passing hours of the day and 
night; but the finest, most lovely, are those brought 
out by the late afternoon and sunset hours. It is 
at such a time that the scene borrows from the 
declining sun an almost heavenly radiance, cast 
over land and sea in one immense, palpitating sheet 
of molten color, suffused with a complete gamut of 
splendid tints, hues and shades. 

Some years ago, in early June, the writer, with 
a companion, was driving from San Luis Rey to 
Capistrano. Leaving the former sleepy little town 
at noon, we forded the San Luis Rey River — then 
and at that particular spot, not much more than a 
thread — and pursued our way among, and over, 
low-rounded hills, covered, in many spots, with wild 
oats and mustard, the latter dry and stiff, having 
lost all of its spring color and graceful pliancy. 
After some eight or ten miles, the way came out 
onto the mesa bordering the sea, from which a 
magnificent stretch of the coast, both north and 
south, was to be seen. We were so high above 
the. beach, that several promontories could be de- 
scried, one behind the other, each two points of 

171 



Some By- Ways of California 

land embracing a long slight crescent of beach, on 
which the waves were breaking in lines of gleam- 
ing white, two and three deep. Slowly we made 
our way, for we had a heavy wagon containing 
all the paraphernalia of a camping party. As we 
went on, the scene changed gradually: the high 
mesa descended to but a few feet above the sea; the 
hills on our right marshalled themselves into a 
long serried row, crowding closer to the water, 
until, in the far distance, ahead of us, they seemed 
to end abruptly in the waves. Suddenly we came 
to a place that, for its peace and beauty, made us 
exclaim in wonder and admiration. The ground 
dipped at a gentle angle toward a broad, level 
meadow, extending from the sea, on one hand, to 
the hills, on the other; oak trees were scacttered 
thinly over the ground, either singly or in little 
clumps; while a small herd of cattle were roaming 
about or lying tranquilly under the thick, green 
boughs. The sun, by the time we reached the 
place, had declined far in the western sky, and 
though it was yet too high above the horizon to 
bestow the colors of sunset, it was low enough 
to shed over everything that all-enveloping, rich, 
warm yellow glow which comes only on late af- 
ternoons when, like a thin luminous fog, there is 
much fine dust in the air. The scene before us 
was bathed in this vivid light-suffused color: the 
ground a warm yellow, almost orange in the fore- 

172 



The Charm of Southern California 

ground, shading off into the cooler yellow grey in 
the distance; the trees, dotted here and there, a 
warm grey green; — or green grey, for there was 
very little green left about them by the transform- 
ing sun — ; the hills, on the right, struck with the 
full power of the light from the west, yellow, with 
shades and touches of pale blue, grey, madder, 
brown, changing imperceptibly to a flat expanse 
of grey, blue and purple as they died away in the 
distance; on the left, the water, Hke a burnished 
sheet of silver, reflecting, with absolute fidelity, 
every light and tone of the sky; the sun, an immense 
ball of fire, flashing its beams to the zenith in great 
broad shafts of light. You may fancy there was 
too much yellow in the scene, that it must have 
been crude and garish. Not so. It was a "sym- 
phony " in yellow and grey : not a particle of the 
yellow that was not tempered, modified and sub- 
dued by blue and grey, warm and cool. It would 
have been impossible to paint: even Turner could 
not have made more than a feeble suggestion of 
it; but it was the kind of scene that Claude Lor- 
raine loved, and strove, with more or less success, 
to represent on canvas. The writer has never seen 
its like : he has not been through that country since, 
which may be the reason; for such places, where 
everything — hills, plain, trees, water, sky — every- 



IZ3 



Some By- Ways of California 

thing is in a perfect harmony of contour and 
chiaroscuro, are hard to find. 

" The brilliant orb of parting day 
Diflfused a rich and mellow ray 
Above the mountain's brow; 

Long hung the eye of glory there, 
And linger'd as if loth to leave 
A scene so lovely and so fair. 
'Twere there even luxury to grieve; 
So soft the clime, so balm the air, 
So pure and genial were the skies, 
In sooth 'twas almost Paradise, — 
For ne'er did the sun's splendor close 
On such a picture of repose; — 



With every charm the landscape glow'd 
Which partial Nature's hand bestow'd." 

Is not this a perfect description of Southern 
California and its mild, soft climate, its beautiful 
scenery, Shelley gives us? He never saw this coun- 
try; but, while writing of Italy, he has given us, un- 
wittingly, a description than which none could be 
more fitting to this " our Italy." Paradise, indeed, it 
almost is: perhaps many would be willing to forego 
their hopes of a future Paradise, if, with eternal 
youth, they might be permitted to pass eternity 
here. But, alas! even here, as everywhere else, 
perfect scenes like this one the writer has attempted 
to describe, as well as the perfect conditions of 

174 



The Charm of Southern California 

physical well-being, are so few, so rarely met with! 

That night we passed camped out on the open 
mesa, with the roar of the waves in our ears; and 
the next morning continued on our way to Capis- 
trano which we reached about noon. During the 
morning drive along the shore, sometimes using 
the hard sandy beach itself for a road, we had an- 
other beautiful scene of land and sea, not so rare- 
ly lovely as that of the afternoon before, but one 
that could not be found every day. The time was 
about nine: the morning fog, which had been a 
feature of nearly every day of our trip, had just 
begun to thin and break overhead, and along the 
shore behind us. There, we saw the foaming 
waves rush up the beach in long curved lines of 
dazzHng white ; beyond, a dark red-brown headland 
broke out, sharply massive from the luminous mist 
which, all about, — above, below, over the water 
to the horizon — , enveloped everythingbut this deep, 
dark promontory and the line of dazzling white 
waves leading to it. Although the sun was still 
shrouded in fog, its light irradiated every bit of 
the scene, concentrating in defined rays only on the 
point of land which was in full sunlight. This 
was an eflfect Turner loved and Dainted many 
times. 

Still another scene, utterly different from the 
others, the writer had, two days, or rather nights, 
later, at Capistrano. On our arrival at that old 

175 



Some By- Ways of California 

Mexican mission town, and while looking for a 
suitable spot where we could make our camp, the 
care-taker of the mission most obligingly offered 
us the use of the patio of the mission itself, for the 
very small sum of quatro rcalcs (half a dollar).* 
What a delight that was, camping in one corner 
of the patiOy surrounded on all four sides with the 
buildings and ruins and cloistered arches of this 
old mission, one of the finest and most interesting 
of all the twenty-one; cut off from the outside 
world by these walls of crumbling adohe and brick, 
the roofs of red and yellow tiles, contrasting most 
exquisitely with the walls, cream-tinted with age; 
the warm, red brick-paved walks; overhead the 
deep blue sky and flooding sunlight; while every- 
where the silence of Nature, broken, now and then, 
by the warble of some bird perched in the trees just 
byond the walls of the enclosure! Were it not 
for the whistle and rumble of the railroad trains, 
as they passed by, a quarter-mile distant, one could 
dream from morn until night of the old mission 
days, undisturbed by any modern happening, so 
quiet and shut in is the patio. Many hours the 
writer spent thus dreaming of early times. 
Had an old fraile, clad in his brown Franciscan 

*This occurred in 1895 : probably it would not be permitted 
now, for the mission is, at present, leased to the Landmarks Club 
of Los Angeles, who have restored, and taken full charge of, the 
ruins. 

176 



The Charm of Southern California 

robe and cord, appeared from out one of the rooms 
and paced slowly along the cloister to the church 
ruin, his eyes fixed on a vellum-bound missal in 
his hands, it would have seemed the most natural 
thing in the world. Nowhere among the twenty- 
one missions is the illusion of the old days so strong, 
so perfect, as here at San Juan Capistrano. 

This was our place of abode for three days; 
exploring and sketching the mission, talking with 
the old Mexican custodian, who knew not a word 
of English, and dreaming of the palmy days of 
Capistrano, when the mission took its part in the 
religious and political affairs of the time. At night, 
as a general thing, we slept the sleep of the just; 
for spending the entire twenty-four hours of the 
day in the open air, conduces to the soundest 
sleep during the time of darkness. One night, 
however, while at Capistrano, the writer awoke 
somewhere near the approach of dawn. There was 
yet no glimmer of daylight, but the moon, in its 
second quarter, was hastening toward the western 
horizon, and in the air was that peculiar hush, 
that tense quiet which seems to announce the birth 
of a new day. The patio was flooded with mellow 
moonbeam light, the arches, those " loops of time " 
of the poet, silhouetting the black recesses between 
the pillars. Not a sound was audible; even the 
wind had died away to an absolute calm. Yet it 
was not difficult to imagine one could hear the 

177 



Some By- Ways of California 

chants of the fathers in their church, or the bells, 
deep-toned, announcing some midnight or 
early matinal service. Everything — the hour, the 
silence, the moonlight, the enclosing arches, the 
ruined church rising above the nearer tiled roofs — 
all was attuned to make a deep and lasting impres- 
sion, one that it would be impossible to receive, in 
anything Hke as great degree, in the light of day. 

And this brings us to the third factor in pro- 
ducing the charm of this land — the associations of 
the old historic days, which have come down to us 
as a sweet, yet strong, aroma, and, in a more ma- 
terial form, in the old mission and domestic archi- 
tecture, which is so beautiful to every beholder. 
There are few places in the southern half of the 
state which have not some vestiges of the old 
times; not, necessarily, in buildings of adobe and 
tiles, — these two essentials to the perfect type of 
Spanish California houses — , but in the descendants 
of the Spanish and Mexicans, some of the older 
ones of whom know not a word of English, and in 
the nomenclature of towns, villages, rivers, hills and 
other topographical features. The soft Spanish 
names, bestowed upon many places, are a strong at- 
traction in themselves, and offer a contrast to our 
usual American manner of naming places, far from 
conducive to pride in the latter. Southern Cal- 
iforna is unusually free from the ugly, prosaic, often 
meaningless, nomenclature of numberless cities and 



The Charm of Southern California 

towns everywhere in the United States; for not 
only are there few names other than of Spanish 
derivation, but those few are a happy exception 
to the general rule of American selection. How 
much of this is due to the good example set by the 
Spaniards? Yet who would not far rather prefer 
such names as Santa Ines, Santa Isabel, Los Gatos, 
Rincon, Vallecitas, and the Indian Lompoc, Sono- 
ma, to the American Redlands, Riverside, 
Summerland, to say nothing of such names 
as Castroville, Corona and others? Nearly 
all Spanish names were derived from the 
calendar of saints, most of the older places (notably 
so in the case of the missions) being called after 
that saint who was honored on the particular day 
which saw the inception of the town or village. 
Other names were derived from some resemblance, 
real or fancied, or from some natural or prominent 
object situated in the place; El Puente (The Bridge), 
Rincon (Corner), Pala (Shovel: the valley in which 
Pala lies is in shape Hke a shovel), Los Gatos 
(The Cats: from the large number of wild cats 
found among the hills in the vicinity of the place in 
early days). 

There is one drawback, however, to the use of 
Spanish names, which is, that few persons, unac- 
quainted with that language, pronounce them cor- 
rectly. This is almost worse than plain meaning- 
less English names, but it could easily be remedied 

179 



Some By- Ways of California 

by having the school children taught the correct 
pronunciation. This ought to be done, for nothing 
is more distressing to the correct ear familiar with 
Spanish than to hear Santa Ines pronounced Santa 
Ynez (a mongrel combination of Spanish and Eng- 
lish), or Santa Cruz, with the English sound of 
the z or San Jose, with both / and ^ incorrect, 
and the accent on the wrong syllable, and so on 
through a long list of names.* 

If the old Spanish names exercise a strong, 
though intangible, influence on the imagination, 
evoking scenes and pictures of early days, how 
much more puissant must be the architectural re- 
mains of those days! Until one has seen them, 
it is difficult to believe how much a part of the coun- 
try they truly are; how they seem to fit into the 
landscape as though an integral member of it. 
Never was there a form of building more perfect- 
ly adapted to the country in which it was used than 
that the Spanish introduced into California. Adobe 
was the only material to be had in adequate quan- 
tity; for wood was scarce, stone too slowly, and 
with too much difficulty, prepared at first, though, 
later, used in some of the mission churches, burnt 
brick debarred for the same reason, while adobe 
clay was nearly everywhere to be found, easily 

*Los Angeles is pronounced in half a dozen different ways, 
none of which is right : the correct pronunciation is never heard 
outside of the Spanish-speaking people in the state. 

i8o 



The Charm of Southern California 

worked into the form of bricks by the untutored 
savage, and was, at the same time, a perfect pro- 
tection from the sudden changes of temperature; 
so that adobe buildings were both warmer in win- 
ter and cooler in summer than those built with any 
other material. This was due to the great thick- 
ness of the walls: some of the mission churches had 
walls six and seven feet thick. These buildings, 
shining white in the sunlight, roofed with the red 
and yellow half-cylindrical tiles, under the deep 
blue arch above, make a picture found nowhere 
else in this our land. 

The missions, naturally, both those in good 
preservation, and those in ruins, are the most im- 
portant architectural remains. In them we find 
the culmination of this half-Moorish style of build- 
ing. Each mission was not only a place for reHg- 
ious worship and instruction ; it was a regular com- 
munity, a complete town or village, with every oc- 
cupation and trade necessary to the existence of a 
town or village carried on unintermittently. These 
religious communities were more self-centred than 
is the usual village; for (and this is most true of the 
very earliest days) they were, in a great measure, 
cut ofT from each other, both from the distance, 
which averaged twenty miles, and, frequently, on 
account of native hostility: so that, at times, each 
mission was obliged to be absolutely self-support- 
ing. Each one was a little world, producing every- 

i8z 



Some By-Ways of California 

thing it needed for its own existence, as well as 
ready and waiting to help its neighbor on either 
side as emergency might arise. 

The picture a mission presented to the traveler, 
approaching it from the open deserted country, 
must have been an animated one, full of all life 
and activity, as well as a beautiful one, not only 
from the buildings, rearing up their walls, grandly 
white, in the bright sunlight, but from the beauty 
of human life and purpose. Here was a gathering 
of the aborigines in all stages of savagism and 
semi-civilisation, working at every kind of occu- 
pation necessary to the well-being of the com- 
munity as a whole. Here were men making adobe 
bricks and tiles for buildings, clearing the land for 
building and for planting, sowing and gathering 
the harvests, working in the vine- and olive-yards, 
tending the live stock, — horses, sheep, cattle — , 
grinding corn and wheat, shearing the sheep and 
preparing the wool for the weaving, filling the oc- 
cupations of carpenters, builders, workers in iron, 
potters; here, could be seen women busy in all 
domestic affairs, spinning, weaving, sewing, some- 
times working in the fields and gardens with the 
men, cooking, taking care of the buildings, tend- 
ing their babies. The children, too, were not idle 
— for they had their own part in the general activi- 
ty of all, doing what their slighter strength per- 
mitted, and, then, they had their school duties to 

182 



The Charm of Southern California 

fulfil, under the charge of the fathers who over- 
saw and directed everything. Then, to complete 
the picture, over all, the great white church, heavy 
buttressed, covered with roof of warm yellow and 
red tiles, ending in the sky with a domed belfry; — 
sometimes with two — ; the buildings adjoining, 
long, low, cloistered rooms, all white, running 
around the four sides of the patio, a sunny spot, 
bowered in blossoming plants, with a fountain 
plashing musically in the warm sunshine. 

Such is the picture of the old days a visit to the 
mission conjures up. It is very strong at all, but 
particularly so at those which are deserted and in 
ruins. Santa Barbara, alone, of those still intact 
and in use, has this power to evoke reminiscences 
of former times, in large measure; but, filled with 
by-gone memories as it is, it is surpassed by San 
Juan Capistrano which, though used to some ex- 
tent, is a ruin, a noble relic of early California days. 
San Luis Rey, but lately awakened from a long 
lethargic sleep, and once more a home of the Fran- 
ciscan fathers, is almost, if not quite, the equal of 
Capistrano, in its beauty and charm. Carmelo, far 
in the north, is unique among the missions: its 
style of architecture is richer in line effect, mainly 
from the large dome which is not a hemisphere, 
as at the other missions, but rises above a spherical 
curve into a point; the dome, likewise, rests on 
an octagonal drum, connecting it with the massive 

183 



Some By- Ways of California 

square tower, which adds to the effect of richness. 
This church departs, too, from the usual white 
color of the mission buildings: it is built largely of 
stone of a decided yellow pink tint which deepens 
with age, and the adobe and plaster used has been 
deeply colored to correspond with the stone. The 
church is a beautiful object, yet, on the w^hole, — 
to the writer, at least — , the clear white, toned only 
by the passing years, of the other missions, is more 
pleasing and harmonious with their landscape set- 
ting. Even those missions — Soledad, Purisinia, 
San Antonio — utterly deserted, their crumbling 
walls fast returning to the earth from which they 
arose, are rich in the storied past, saddening as 
it is to see them decrepit and forlorn. They should 
be tenderly cared for and conserved as long as 
possible; for, once gone, nothing can fill their 
place, and their loss will be irreparable. 

But there are some missions which have lost 
forever much of their peculiar old-time character. 
This is due to the change in their environment, 
which has changed, as the country itself has chang- 
ed, from the old, quiet, pastoral days of the *' golden 
age " of California to the active, busied American 
life of the present. A mission cannot become a 
unit in an American town or city, and retain its 
old character to any great degree. San Buena- 
ventura is a striking example of this: the church — 
all that remains of mission days — is in the heart 

184 



The Charm of Southern California 

of the town which has grown up around it on all 
sides; street cars run by directly in front of it. 
The result is simply this: the church looks as 
though it had been transplanted from its accustom- 
ed place and set down here, a stranger, to get along 
as best it can. It is a pathetic object as it stands 
here, looking out of place and unhappy in its lone- 
liness. The mission church in Ventura is the worst 
instance of this change; San Gabriel has it in less 
degree, for the town is a small one, and many of 
the inhabitants, Mexican; but there is too little of 
the old adobe architecture remaining to be quite in 
keeping with the church; then, too, one does not 
usually associate saloons with a mission, and sa- 
loons are very much en evidence here. Even Santa 
Barbara has lost something of the mission charac- 
ter: it is not surrounded on all sides, like the Ven- 
tura church, but is situated on the outskirts of the 
city, with the open country to the north. Yet to 
step from the busy, modern town to the mission, 
quiet as it is, is not consonant with the impression 
these missions make when seen among their ap- 
propriate surroundings. 

To visit these missions, and dream of their past 
life, when they were a power — for a time the only 
power — in the history of California, is a privilege 
one would not willingly forego. There is noth- 
ing like them, in interest and value, anywhere in 
the United States. Missions, established by the 

i8s 



Some By- Ways of California 

Jesuits, and, indeed, of much greater age, may be 
found in Texas; but they were less important in the 
political history of the time, and the ruins, while 
embracing some fine specimens of church archi- 
tecture, — notably those missions near San An- 
tonio — , are not of the beauty and extent of the Cal- 
ifornia missions. There are, too, mission relics in 
Arizona and New Mexico, but, although the mission 
history of that region is, perhaps, as interesting (for 
the savage tribes were much more warlike and 
valiant) the results in our own day are not so 
great, and the architectural remains are, collective- 
ly, insignificant when compared with those in 
Southern California. To see Capistrano, or San 
Luis Rey, or Santa Ines, is almost like visiting a 
foreign land, and why should not it seem so? Here 
is architecture totally unlike what one is accustom- 
ed to in other parts of our land, in a landscape set- 
ting that is, in a measure, oriental in character. 
And, then, we must remember, California was, less 
than seventy-five years ago, a foreign land to us, 
just as Mexico is to-day; nay, more than Mexico 
is to us now; for, in those early days, people did 
not go traveling to the uttermost ends of the 
earth, and California was less known to travelers 
than Thibet or Madagascar is now to the ordinary 
globe-trotter. It has been said that the landscape 
of Southern California, in the uncultivated parts, 

i86 



The Charm of Southern California 

is more like that of Palestine than any other coun- 
try: if this be so, it is sufficient in itself to lend a 
strange, subtle charrn to the scenery we find here. 
Of the domestic building there is but little to 
say. It is like the mission architecture on a small- 
er and secular scale: indeed, some of the poorer 
missions are not unlike large domestic habitations. 
While there is actually much of the old archicture 
remaining, it is, for the most part, so overpowered 
by modern building that it seems relatively very 
little. The older sections of Los Angeles, Santa 
Barbara, Monterey, and other towns contain speci- 
mens, more or less — usually more — altered and 
brought up to modern ideas, of old Spanish build- 
ings. Some of the best and least unchanged of 
them show us the patio, but this was a feature sel- 
dom enjoyed in domestic houses, probably on ac- 
count of the comparative poverty of the general 
population. Old Town, the original San Diego, is, 
of all places in the state, unique in being almost 
solely a Spanish town of Spanish architecture. It 
is dead to the world now, it having been sapped 
of what little life it had when its rival, San Diego, 
was born. It has been left to us, a picture of for- 
mer days— a picture without life, but perfect in its 
ruin, untouched by modern hand. Dead as it is, 
and melancholy in its death, one visits it, grateful 
to find that irreverent American life has passed by 

187 



Some By-Ways of California 

and left it to us, a legacy from the past. Camulos 
is the finest specimen of domestic architecture, and 
of an old Spanish hacienda, remaining in the state, 
but enough has been said of that in a former article. 
In the smaller towns, like San Gabriel and San 
Luis Rey, one finds houses of the plain, rectangu- 
lar, adobe pattern, sometimes white, sometimes tint- 
ed yellow, grey, or pink; but usually the surround- 
ings are so changed and the proper atmosphere so 
lacking that they are hardly satisfactory: so that, 
after all, excepting merely Old Town and Camulos, 
the missions are the only really satisfying archi- 
tectural remains of the old days. 

Have we said enough to call forth a dim and 
shadowy picture of Southern California, its scen- 
ery, the associations of old time, and the charm 
every lover of the beautiful in nature and art, as 
exemplified in architecture, finds irresistible? 
Ruskin, with all his eloquence, could not say of 
Southern California more than is its due. What 
would he have written of this country if, instead of 
visiting, and writing so much of, his beloved Italy, 
he had seen and loved this land, as he, assuredly, 
could not have helped loving it? But, after all, it 
must be seen to be appreciated and loved; must 
be seen, that is, not as ninety-nine out of one hun- 
dred tourists see it, but leisurely and thoughtfully; 
for Southern California is a country that grows into 

i88 



The Charm of Southern California 

one's affections with time only, and the more time 
one gives to this country, getting acquainted with 
those places slightly, or not at all, known to the 
general traveling pubHc, the greater and stronger 
will the charm become, the harder will it be to 
leave it. 

January, 1900. 



189 



